


Nexus of Light

by Kryal



Category: Lone Wolf - Fandom, World of Lone Wolf
Genre: Action/Adventure, Airships, Dwarves, Epic Battles, Friendship, Gen, Heroic Fantasy, I am a Geek, Minor Character Death, Other: See Story Notes, Possession, Ridiculously Long Notes, Swords & Sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:07:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 84,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryal/pseuds/Kryal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world of Lone Wolf has more than one legendary hero - and when the forces of darkness decide to change the rules, they must join forces to restore the balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes will be incorporated into the text of the story itself, as I obliterated the allotted AO3 character count.
> 
> ...what, you thought I was _kidding_ about the "ridiculously long notes" tag?

Lone Wolf belongs primarily to Joe Dever, with Ian Paige earning a hat-tip for the Grey Star books. They created the world; I’m just playing in it. And an especially deep hat-tip goes to the awesome people at the Aon Project, who made the gamebooks and most of the supplemental materials available online.

* * *

NOTE: Although set in the same universe, the _Lone Wolf_ and _World of Lone Wolf_ series are written by different authors and set in completely different locations, with minimal influence between them. So technically, this is an in-universe crossover using both Lone Wolf and Grey Star as main characters.

* * *

WARNING: This story includes occasionally graphic depictions of violence, a brief description of psychic torture, non-canon character death, villainous dialogue that may count as Nightmare Fuel to some, and the occasional extremely bad joke. Then again, any veteran reader of the gamebooks should be familiar with all of the above. Except for maybe the jokes…

This is set during Lone Wolf’s time studying with the Magi in book seven of the main Lone Wolf series (in the introductory sequence of _Castle of Death_ ), and about six months or so after Shasarak’s defeat in _War of the Wizards_ the end of the Grey Star series. So far as canon is concerned, I am prioritizing canon as laid out in Grey Star’s series (after all, only four books; much easier to keep track of!) and the Lone Wolf series up through the sixth book ( _Kingdoms of Terror_ ). I haven’t read most of the later parts of Lone Wolf’s series, and only skimmed the first parts of The New Order – mostly for the express purpose of research for this story. I am also explicitly _rejecting_ the epilogue published in a magazine for the Grey Star series, and some things mentioned in _Voyage of the Moonstone_. And I’m more or less declaring _The Magnamund Companion_ as a source to be cherry-picked as I see fit. (Basically? If it’s in Grey Star, or in the early Lone Wolf books, I try to adhere to canon. After that…) For the most part, my changes are aimed at better integrating the backstories for Lone Wolf and Grey Star, particularly regarding the origins of the Kai Lords; crossovers work much better when you can intertwine the wider worlds of the characters involved, after all.

Therefore, this story should be considered AU as of the beginning of _Castle_ _of Death_ and the end of _War of the Wizards_ , and with regard to a few relatively minor world-setting details. In particular, this story deliberately renders AU: 1) The timeline, particularly as it relates to when the events of the Lone Wolf and Grey Star take place with respect to each other (with subsequent consequences to relative character ages); 2) details of what happened to Grey Star following the ending of _War of the Wizards_ , and 3) the identity of the creators of the Sommerswerd. Information on the timeline changes can be found in the closing AN below; I will provide similar details in the ANs of later chapters, as the other changes become relevant.

Finally, a word of warning to those who come to this story from _The Dragon-King’s Temple_ or BFF-verse: I grew up reading Tolkien. Which means sometimes my plotbunnies want to just sit back and wallow in every single hammy Epic Fantasy Adventure trope they can possibly get their paws into, from quasi-archaic formal narrative style to Epic Battles for the Fate of the Universe. This story is pure author-candy, through and through.

* * *

INTRODUCTORY NOTES: I began this story over Christmas break, when my brother idly mentioned that the Lone Wolf gamebooks had a video game adaptation that had recently been ported over to the computer. This got me looking at the books again, after a good fifteen years and more of never even thinking about them. Then I found out that they’re all available online. Having just come out of Nanowrimo to run straight into three back-to-back weeks of end-of-term-and-finals _hell_ , I was in the mood to indulge in brain candy.

This woke up a very, very old bunny. Just as I was getting the energy to write back.

For those of you who don’t know the books, or haven’t looked at them in years, the Lone Wolf series is a set of Choose Your Own Adventure gamebooks, where periodically the reader makes choices for the protagonist by turning to different page numbers corresponding to options offered by the text; you can read the same book ten times over and get a slightly (or sometimes very) different story each time. Where the Lone Wolf books differ from most gamebooks is that first of all, you get to take part in character creation, by choosing special abilities for your character that then have an impact on how certain events in the story progress. (You also get stats for the character, and there’s a combat system and everything. Being a cheaty cheater who cheats, I just skip that part; I’m more interested in the story!) Second of all, there are multiple books following a single protagonist, Lone Wolf, the last survivor of the order of Kai Lords after the monastery was wiped out by a sneak attack. (The author calls the Kai Lords “D&D Psionic Rangers”; me, I call ‘em Fantasy Jedi. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to…) The reader follows Lone Wolf through twenty different books, until he gets so badass that he’s not really a viable protagonist anymore. (Seriously. Equal Opportunity Awesome applies to villains, and once your hero has walked into the home dimension of all that is evil and cut a mile-wide swath through their leadership, it’s just kinda hard to come up with a villain who can challenge him properly!) At that point, the story shifts to follow Lone Wolf’s (unnamed) successor.

The Lone Wolf books have several spinoffs – the aforementioned videogame, several board games and RPG books, and a second gamebook series called The World of Lone Wolf. The World of Lone Wolf books are a four-book series following a young wizard named Grey Star. Grey Star was raised by a race of wizardly demi-gods who exiled themselves to an isolated island after swearing an oath to the goddess Ishir that they wouldn’t interfere with humanity anymore. But right next door to their island, a renegade Shianti is building an Evil Empire. And then one day a shipwreck washes up a human baby up on their shores, and… well, ain’t no law against teaching the kid their magics. And _he_ is human and not bound by any oaths…

I confess – my plotbunnies always liked Grey Star. (In part because he receives a bit more characterization than Lone Wolf.) And they always wanted the protagonists of the two series to meet…

* * *

* * *

 

Shadows clung in choking cobwebs to the old stone, enhanced more than challenged by the fitful flickering of a scarce handful of torches, set here and there along the walls. Rather than lighting the hall, the dim glower of the torches cast looming black shapes against the walls as the squad of soldiers passed, and the occasional glint of baleful orange where friction had rubbed away the sooty blackening on chainmail shirts worn under black tabards.

These men were the elite of the Drakkarim, hand-picked for this mission. Even so, hands tightened uneasily on weapons as eyes flickered back and forth in the shadows of their helms. Whatever their alliances and allegiances, no amount of devotion could change the fact that humans were creatures of daylight, ill-suited to the tangling shadows of this cold, dead world. It made them restless, on edge, uneasy, unhappy. Only their own pride and determination not to be seen as weak by their fellows kept every one of them from glancing over his shoulder when the low moan of the empty wind outside sobbed through the echoing hallways.

Which was why none of them noticed one of their own dropping farther and farther back, until he walked at the very rear of the line. Or that, when they reached the next branch of the hall and turned rightward, he turned instead to the left without breaking stride – until ten paces down the corridor, where he abruptly side-stepped into a small alcove. And, finally, released a sigh of not-quite-relief that shook only a little, as he did his best to wipe away the cold sweat on his brow without actually removing that concealing helmet.

_Well. So far so good. As far as that goes._

Which wasn’t as far as he would have liked. For the moment, the Drakkarim warriors seemed unaware that his cell now stood empty. Whether that was thanks to the woven tricks of shadow and light and suggestion he’d left in his place, or due to whatever event had distracted them long enough for him to escape in the first place, he didn’t know. But he was free of his chains, had something resembling a weapon again…

_And what good does that do me, when the world in which I stand is itself a prison?_

Pressing his lips together, he shook his head firmly. Such thoughts did him no good. For now, he had to focus on the present. And in the present…

_They will notice I am missing, sooner or later. And that their numbers have increased by one._ _Or that their uniforms have decreased!_

He almost laughed at that. But he was acutely aware that he’d spent more of his reserves than he liked on the magics that had freed him from his cell and woven the deceptions to buy him some time. He was weary, and hungry. And aching; his captors had not been gentle in bringing him here.

And his only resources for the moment were the robe he wore under borrowed armor, and a heavy axe that he had not the _least_ idea how to use as a weapon.

He allowed himself one last slow, bracing breath, and then slipped from his hiding place, careful to walk with the brisk stride of one who knew his business and would tolerate no interruption as he carried it out. And thanking the unknowing assistance of no small number of the black-armored zealots for showing him the safe paths, free of the dangerous traps that lined many other corridors.

_First things first. You must find something to eat, and a safe haven, however temporary, to rest and plan._

His head rose sharply at the distant tread and clank of armored feet. Not many; three or so, perhaps, and walking slowly.

_Too few; I cannot simply attach myself to their number as I did before, they will notice. I must find somewhere to hide until they pass…_

As though his own thoughts had summoned it, his eyes landed on a half-opened door, leading to a small chamber partially filled by boxes, and some form of desk. A storeroom of some kind.

_Good enough!_ Action was no slower than thought; he’d quickened his pace and eeled through the opening almost before he made the decision. Quickly, he ducked behind the door to press his back against the wall, so that if the approaching soldiers looked inside there would be no shadow to betray him.

His foot knocked into something soft and yielding as he moved. Startled, he looked down, heart hammering. Then his eyes widened as the dim light creeping through the half-open door revealed what he’d found.

_My pack!_

Almost dizzy with relief, he quickly gathered it up, and nearly fell to his knees for joy when he discovered his herbalist’s belt underneath it. A quick search revealed that the contents were mostly intact, although all of his money and travel food had been taken.

_But not these._ His fingers plucked out one of the packets of bizarre blue mushrooms he’d carefully dried and stowed away, and he smiled to himself. _They must not have recognized them as food. Thank you again, Urik._

Perhaps they’d thought the mushrooms part of his alchemist’s kit. From the look of things, the soldiers had taken anything recognizably mundane – coins, food – and left the rest for their masters to peruse at leisure.

His lips twitched as quickly checked the contents of his herb pouch. _Or else the Darklords and their followers don’t care for dried flowers. Such a pity._

One thing was missing, however. Search though he might, he could find no sign of his staff.

Eyes narrowing, he considered that grimly. Without a prepared conduit and focus, he could still work magic freely enough, but he would drain his reserves all the more quickly – and if found, would have no weapon he knew how to use at hand.

Moreover – without his staff, he had no hope of opening a portal to take him out of this dead world and home again.

_Think. Where would they have taken it?_

Footsteps clattered in the corridor outside and he reflexively drew back into the corner as he began gathering energy. Hidden in the shadows in the blind spot of the door, he would at least have the advantage of surprise on his side. That might be enough to bespell or fell all three.

Might.

_If not, then this will be a very short escape indeed._ It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady and silent as the door creaked fully open.

But the soldiers didn’t enter. Instead, a bundle flew inside, striking the floor with a heavy _thump_ and a rattle of metal.

“Would have expected one of the accursed Sunsmen to carry more – something worthwhile, not just a few baubles!” someone grumbled.

“Baubles and plenty of weapons,” said another. “Not sure why he bothers, with that accursed sun-sword at hand…”

The second speaker was interrupted by a dull _thmp_ – the sound of an impatient cuffing. “Enough with your complaints,” a third, clearly the leader, snapped. “The great one has plans for the blade and its master. We’re done here, now move along!”

The door swung mostly closed again, leaving him in darkness again.

Slowly, he released his breath. And swallowed.

_Sunsman?_

A Kai Lord. Carrying a _sun sword_.

There could be only one person who matched that description.

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

Cold bit into his wrists, the icy burn never warming from his own body heat the way simple steel might. But these were no mundane shackles that held him.

Though it made little difference in the end, save for discomfort. Magic or mundane – a Kai Master could push his body to unimagined feats of strength, speed and agility, but mortal flesh and bone had their limits. He could not break these bonds by sheer force. And even if he tried…

Lone Wolf narrowed his eyes slightly. He could _see_ nothing. But his senses screamed that dark energy knotted all around him, ready to scream to every soldier and demon in this place the moment he should win free of this cage.

He gritted his teeth. _It_ was _a trap._

He’d felt something strange and uneasy in the air at Lord Errich’s manor. But he had half-expected as much; after all, he’d come seeking King Ulnar’s lost grandson, the heir apparent of Sommerlund after his father had fallen in battle. The boy had vanished, guards and all, somewhere on the road as he returned from his summer retreat to the household of his mother’s kin.

Prince Hamil was the last male descendent of King Ulnar still living, after plague and the machinations of the Darklords had whittled away so many of the royal line of Sommerlund. As soon as word reached the capitol city of Holmgard, King Ulnar had sent a desperate message out to the Elder Magi, with whom the last of the Kai Lords was studying, begging for help. Lone Wolf had answered.

That Lord Errich would be ill at ease was only to be expected. The boy’s safety had been his to guarantee. He’d welcomed Lone Wolf with obvious, desperate relief, sharing all they knew of the boy’s movements after he had left their hall. That foul play was at work was plain to see…

_Foul play indeed. How long has it been since Errich yielded to the Darklords? How long were they planning this?_

In the battlefield, he could – and had, all too often – face a dozen, even a score of enemies. But this had been treachery, drugs and magic in the night. And now…

Agony tore through his mind suddenly, icy claws tearing at his mind’s defenses. Biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, Lone Wolf shored them back up, throwing mental shield after mental shield in place, wrapping his thoughts and knowledge and _self_ in layer after layer of misdirection, reflection, and iron walls, so that with every defense the Darklord shattered or circumvented, three more stood ready to take its place.

The tearing, raw savaging of the assault was torment. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing; he remained upright only because his arms shackled to the ceiling of his cage allowed him to do nothing else, because his legs had no strength. Distantly, he heard a low groan of pain, and it took him far too long to realize he’d heard _himself_.

The mental invasion suddenly broke off with mocking laughter from all around. As vision slowly returned, Lone Wolf found himself staring into black-on-black-on-black eyes that smiled mockingly, before turning away.

He didn’t know the name of the enemy he faced. He’d never seen a Darklord without armor, in a form so very close to human.

_Possession._ He’d encountered such craft only rarely, for all his travels – but he knew what he faced. Given his mission here, he was grimly certain that he knew from whose eyes his foe watched.

_Prince Hamil. Please let something of his own self yet survive. Possessions can be broken, if some trace of the original mind remains…_

Lone Wolf drew in as a deep a breath as he could manage. It was less than he liked. Shackled with his arms over his head as he was, barely able to reach the bottom of the cage to ease the weight of his own body from his arms, his shoulders and chest were strained near their limit. As a Kai Master, his endurance would allow him to last longer than most, possibly for days… but eventually, his legs would give out, the muscles of his chest would tire, and he would suffocate.

His lips thinned. _Though I truly doubt the Darklord would allow my end to be nearly so easy_.

Thinning his lips, he forced his head to raise, scanning the ancient throne room. He had to escape. And quickly. Unfortunately, this Darklord had seemingly learned from his predecessors’ mistakes. No secluded cell for Lone Wolf this time. In addition to the shackles, cell, and spells, guards stood watch from every wall of the room, armed with crossbows. And the Darklord himself lounged comfortably on the ancient throne, looking on with easy amusement…

_Look! Here!_

Lone Wolf started.

His vision was still clouded from the agony of earlier, casting painful light-halos around even the dim torches that seemed to stab into his eyes. But better that than the sense of _darkness_ clinging poison-thick to the guards. They were human, so far as he could see – but they’d given themselves heart and soul to their dark master, with no regrets or second thoughts, and that choice clung to all of them like a shroud.

All, save one.

Just another guard, standing stiff and ready near the door. Except where the others loomed in his senses, dark and dire, grating on a mind already raw from the Darklord’s attack… his senses _welcomed_ this presence, like emerging into moonlight from the depths of a mine.

_What…?_

For just a moment, the guard’s head turned ever so slightly, and he stiffened as his eyes met Lone Wolf’s.

Then, in a subtle motion, he raised his free hand to his mouth, as though to stifle a yawn or cough-

-and a slight skirl of air in the cold drafts of the room carried soft words to Lone Wolf’s ears.

_“It is said that Kai Lords have the ability to hide their presence from all senses. Can you do this? Even from the Darklord?”_

Could he? Were he facing only humans and Giaks – yes. It would be difficult, demanding all his skill and concentration – but what else had he to concentrate upon? But against a Darklord…

_The Darklord is limited to his mortal vessel, for now._ And mortal eyes… were prey to mortal mistakes.

But why? All eyes were on him; they would know what had been done, or guess easily enough. Even if they somehow failed to notice as he vanished from their sight, the spells would betray that he had not actually escaped by their silence.

_I see little choice but to try._

After a long moment of hesitation, Lone Wolf let his head fall – and rise slightly before falling again, a subtle nod, as he kept that guard who was something quite different in the corner of his eye.

Wind whispered in his ears again. _“Then be ready to do so, when you see my signal.”_

Fighting for another deep breath, Lone Wolf half-nodded again, and began to calm and center his mind. It seemed his unexpected ally had a plan. He could only hope the other had some way of supporting the deception.

Breathe in, difficult as it was against the relentless weight of gravity and fatigue. Breathe out. Breathe in…

The Darklord’s throne exploded.

The Darklord, in his human vessel, went flying forward to land flat on his face in an undignified sprawl as ancient wood burst apart in flames and fragments. For a moment, he simply lay there, clearly stunned by the unexpected attack, as the guards stared in shock, and the scraps and sparks of flame pulled together momentarily into a form clearly never intended to be human, but with white blazes like eyes burning with angry _knowledge_ at the fire’s heart-

Then it vanished, and the spell of shock abruptly broke. The Darklord shoved himself back to his feet, shouting something about an escape, as the guards around the room started, clearly uncertain how to react.

And for those moments, all eyes in the room were turned away from Lone Wolf.

Breathing a prayer to the sun, Lone Wolf let his eyes fall to half-mast as he sank his mind into the distant peace of not-being.

All around, the alarm-spells went off, shrieking an alert that Lone Wolf had escaped.

Surprise nearly undid Lone Wolf’s grasp on the meditation. _What? But – I’ve gone nowhere. The spells shouldn’t have triggered…_

The Darklord turned abruptly to stare at – an empty cage and empty shackles, Lone Wolf reminded himself, sinking deeper into the meditation; empty, all of it, all that was here was _emptiness_ …

And to his shock, _the Darklord did not see him._

_…of course. He half-expected that I would escape when all were distracted!_

And if one _expected_ to see something…

Eyes narrowing, the Darklord lashed out in fury, knocking the seemly-empty cage loose of its moorings to topple to its side on the ground and roll away, the screaming spells cutting off abruptly as their material focus was cast aside. Unable to roll with the impact, Lone Wolf could only ride it out, the pain cushioned by the same meditation that hid him from their senses.

_But that will hurt, very much, very soon._

The Darklord stalked from the room, followed by the guards. All save one, hidden from sight by the shadows, only ghosting out when the hall was emptied.

Not a moment too soon. Lone Wolf abruptly felt his meditation break as the cage slammed against a wall and his head struck the bars, and a different form of nothingness entirely descended as he fell unconscious.

* * *

* * *

NOTES ON CANON AND TIMELINES: Warning! Extreme geekiness ahead…

One of the primary changes I’ve made is to the relative timelines. The _Magnamund Companion_ and _Voyage of the Moonstone/Buccaneers of Shadaki_ claim that _Grey Star the Wizard_ and _Flight from the Dark_ (the first Grey Star and Lone Wolf books, respectively) take place on the same year. Except that’s close to impossible, because they both meet a particular character: Madim Rendalim, the master Healer from Durenor who appears in _Fire on the Water_ (the second book of the Lone Wolf series, taking place _immediately_ after the events of _Flight from the Dark_ ), also appears in _Grey Star the Wizard_.

Why is this a problem? Because Grey Star’s adventures take place in the geographic equivalent of South Africa – he’s in the far south of the world, while Lone Wolf’s adventures are in the geographic equivalent of northern Europe. (Or so the narrative claims. And yet, the area of the Shadakine Empire in the south is depicted more as a subtropic or tropic zone, rather than southern temperate as it should be. See the Azanam jungle, for example. Although I suppose you _might_ make an argument for that being a temperate rainforest.) More than that, when Grey Star met Rendalim (who’d been in southern Magnamund looking for a medicine to cure a deadly plague, and was on his way back), he was traveling in the company of heavily armored knights and a wagon – both of which are fairly slow. They would have been able to take a ship for large parts of the distance, which would have cut down on travel time considerably, but not all of it, particularly given the threat of piracy. And Shadaki, at the time, was hostile territory, which would have complicated travel. So I suspect that we need to budget a good four to six months for that sort of world-spanning travel.

On top of that, I don’t recall any mention of a plague in _Fire on the Water_ , save a reference to one that came and went three years _before_ – and a plague would be the sort of thing that would prevent a kingdom from being able to mount any sort of powerful response to an ally’s call for help. Since that didn’t happen, I assume the plague started after Darklord Zagarna’s attempted invasion – particularly because a deadly plague sounds like _exactly_ the sort of thing you’d have to deal with after fighting against undead creatures of darkness! Meaning, Rendalim met Grey Star after his encounter with Lone Wolf. The better part of a year later.

More importantly in terms of plot, Lone Wolf’s period studying with the Magi provides a nice window for the events of this story – he’s powerful enough to be a figure of significant concern to the Darklords by then, but not overpowered. (It’s also the first time we have a solid timescale offered within the books themselves: twelve years after the destruction of the monastery at the beginning of _Flight from the Dark_.)

On Grey Star’s part, I’m placing it soon after the rebellion simply because Grey Star isn’t available for adventures until after his series is finished (every book follows immediately on the ending of the previous one). But given the situation that _War of the Wizards_ ends with, it’s highly unlikely that his life has been _boring_ since then! I had to make a choice between either making up noncanon adventures to fill the space, or having _this_ story be said adventure. I opted for the latter… which, perforce, means that the war to depose Shasarak has _just_ ended.

Therefore: this story AU’s the claim from the _Magnamund Companion_ that _Flight from the Dark_ and _Grey Star the Wizard_ both start in MS 5050 (according to the Magnamund calendar), and instead assumes that _Flight from the Dark_ took place in 5050, and _Grey Star the Wizard_ sometime around 5053 or 5054.

Besides. Given that _Cauldron of Fear_ (book 9) explicitly states that Lone Wolf’s time with the Magi was _eleven_ years after the Massacre, while _Castle_ _of Death_ (book 8) claims twelve… well. I’d say canon isn’t _too_ stringent about timelines!

This story might also be considered my protest against _Buccaneers of Shadaki_ , the only currently published Lone Wolf gamebook that actually acknowledges Grey Star’s existence (to my knowledge). The Grandmaster (Lone Wolf’s successor) is carrying the Moonstone to the Shianti, and overhears in passing that, oh, Grey Star has vanished, his court insists he’s traveling but we think he was kidnapped by necromancers who want the dark days of Shasarak to return…

Me: Wait, _what_?

Bad enough that we just hear this in passing. But… the Grandmaster overhears that a good guy responsible for turning a region considered “wild and lawless” into something that has the potential to be a new ally against Naar has been possibly kidnapped by Naar’s worshippers… and he just shrugs and continues? Doesn’t even follow up? Doesn’t even send a message saying, hey, we should look into this? Doesn’t investigate once the Moonstone is safely in the hands of the Shianti?

And in fact, so far as I am aware we don’t get any sort of follow up on that in the later books, either. For apparently at least _twelve years_ and counting, in-universe.

Get ye back to Hero School! Because that is _not cool_.

(Particularly given that the whole Moonstone plot in the LW series makes it very clear that apparently the magazine epilogue of the Grey Star series didn’t happen. The Moonstone _wasn’t_ returned to the Shianti, and they _didn’t_ Ascend to a Higher Plane of Existence – they’re still on Lorn. [See the Retcon entry on the TV Tropes page for Lone Wolf for a nice summation of the issue.] Meaning that Grey Star should _still have the Moonstone_. And yet Lone Wolf found it in Naar’s possession…)


	2. Chapter 2

Lone Wolf woke suddenly.

Long training and bitter experience kept him still and motionless. Keeping his eyes closed, he breathed deep and slow, focusing all of his attention on his ears.

The sob and moan of wind, shuddering outside weakened walls and nearly drowning out the low crackle of a nearby fire. Nearer still, the _shsh_ of cloth-on-cloth, a gentle slosh of liquid, and the sound of someone drinking slowly.

_I’m not alone._

But although there was an odd sense of gentle pressure on his wrists, there was no feeling of weight or restriction; he was not restrained, at least. Which did not always mean a great deal – but given the alternative, he was willing to consider it a good sign.

_I may as well take the risk._

Keeping his breathing level and slow, the pace of deep sleep, the Kai Lord allowed his eyes to open slightly.

For a long moment, his vision refused to focus, and he wondered if that blow to his head had done more damage than he’d feared. Then, slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that what he’d taken for tree branches were in fact cracks running through the ancient plaster of a ceiling, dark patches here and there showing where large segments had simply fallen away. Elsewhere he could make out the dark splotches of old leaks, half-visible and half-vanishing as the glow of a low fire flickered light and shadow back and forth across the plaster. Going by the angle of the light, the fire was near at hand to his right. Even so, the air was cool, and he could feel the drafts as that mournful wind slipped through the cracks to play across his face, although someone had apparently draped something over him to block the worst of the chill. Based on the sound of movement nearby, someone – like as not, the same someone – was sitting somewhere near his feet, probably in a position to watch the door that Lone Wolf sensed more than saw in the wall facing the fire-

A hint of movement caught his attention, and Lone Wolf’s eyes flickered sideways and upwards, towards that entrance. And widened.

Glimmering with a faint blue-white light, a sinuous shape eeled through shadows and firelight as though swimming through empty air.

_A summoned creature!_

But when aching inner senses reached out despite the surge of renewed pain as he tried to assess this new foe…

Peace. Calm. Even a kind of light, absent curiosity, as of a creature on a brief visit to a strange land. And the shimmer of moonlight on wind-ruffled clouds.

No darkness. No hate. No clawing, knifing sense of _evil_ , even to his still-aching mind.

Startled as much by the simple absence of hostility as anything else, Lone Wolf followed it with his eyes as the creature drifted through the air, passing right above him as it made its way to the other figure by the fire.

The dark-haired young man looked up from where he sat curled in a small nook made of half-wrecked furniture, a somewhat threadbare and much-repaired grey robe wrapped close around him. Although the summon made no sound that Lone Wolf could hear, the young man smiled and freed his left hand from the small travel-cup he’d been nursing to offer it out to the creature, palm up.

The odd light creature swirled downwards to twine its way back up his wrist, before resting its fox-like head in his palm.

For a long moment, neither moved. Then the young man nodded. “Thank you, my friend,” he said quietly. “Go, with my thanks.”

Long, whiskery tendrils brushed his fingers lightly, and then the creature flew from his hand, spiraling upwards, the spiral growing tighter and tighter with each turn as it rose…

Then, between one breath and the next, it was gone.

“Most wizards I know would need to dispel a summoning circle, if they wished to send a summoned creature back to its home plane,” Lone Wolf commented quietly.

The young man’s – the young _wizard’s_ – eyes widened as he started. “Lone Wolf. You’re awake. Thank Ishir.” Casting about for a moment, he looked down at the cup still clasped in his other hand. “Here. You should drink this, if you can,” he said, reaching out with his free hand to help Lone Wolf rise to a sitting position. “The darkness is heavy here, and you’re still deeply wounded.”

Somehow, Lone Wolf was unsurprised that the wizard had recognized that fact, even if physically, his only real wounds were the bruises from the Darklord’s rage at his apparent escape, and the marks where the spectral irons had bitten into his wrists. Marks that had been carefully and neatly bandaged while he was unconscious, he noted, as he reached out to accept the cup.

Even so, for a moment he hesitated. Lord Errich’s treachery was far from the first time offered hospitality had proven in truth to be nothing more than another way for enemies to strike. Drugs, poison, magic, distraction…

_But he himself drank from this same cup not a moment ago._ And if this young wizard meant harm, he’d already had, and passed up, countless easier opportunities.

_Including simply leaving me to the Darklord’s nonexistent mercy. He made himself a powerful enemy this day, for my sake._

Lone Wolf drank. The liquid in the cup proved to be nothing more than an herbal tea of some kind, warm but far from hot; the wizard must have nursed it for some time. And yet… as he drank, an odd feeling of warmth seemed to seep through him, not unlike the feeling of lying in the sun on a warm afternoon, the way he once had in the days when his name was Silent Wolf and he had no more concerns on his mind than convincing the stubborn teaching masters that, no, truly, he _had_ been listening, honest, what was the question again? It soaked into his spirit, easing the lingering aches from the Darklord’s attacks on his mind.

“What is this?” he asked curiously, only noticing he’d drained the cup dry after he’d lowered it.

The wizard accepted the cup back and turned to the heavy iron stove with a small kettle atop it. Like everything else in this place, it carried the marks of long abandonment, but plainly it still functioned well; warmth radiated from it, and the kettle was whispering with the odd wind-in-pines sound of water not quite at a boil, as the fire flickered on the grate.

A fire, Lone Wolf noted suddenly, that burned without fuel of any kind, save a small scrap of wood that might have been scavenged from the broken furniture around them, far too small to support a fire that hot.

“Lavender and lemon balm,” the wizard said, answering his question.

Lone Wolf blinked.

The young man grinned at his nonplussed expression, the smile lightening his look of focused concern and revealing that he could not be more than twenty – likely rather younger. Indeed, he seemed no older than Lone Wolf had been…

_The day I became Lone Wolf._ And that alone, he reflected, was a reminder. Young the wizard might be, but he had managed to make his way through a Darklord’s stronghold alone, disguise or no – and had freed Lone Wolf out from under the Darklord’s very nose. This was not someone to underestimate.

“They are summer plants that grow best in the open sunlight,” the young man explained, pouring a second cup and setting it aside to steep. “Even in dark places, they carry the memory of that light. And sometimes, if the darkness is too deep, it is the little lights that do the greatest good.”

Lone Wolf nodded thoughtfully. It made an odd sort of sense…

_But what school of magic teaches such things? Not any of Sommerlund, nor the Elder Magi…_

“You know who I am,” he noted, as the young man settled back again. “I fear I cannot say the same.”

The wizard’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I suspect there are few who have _not_ heard of you, Kai Lord,” he said wryly. “But you make a fair point.” He sketched an approximation of a bow without standing, firelight gleaming on an odd silver-white streak in otherwise black hair. “My name is Grey Star – lately of the land of Shadaki, far to the south of your Sommerlund.”

Shadaki. The Shadakine Empire. Lone Wolf knew very little of that distant land. Most of it very grim hearing. For years, the Wytch-King Shasarak had ruled it with an iron hand, and only unsettling rumors had escaped its borders – of travelers singled out by the Shadakine wytches to vanish into the dungeons and interrogation chambers, never to be seen again. Of vast armies that would march and fight without food or rest until they fell down dead, fueled by fear and dark magics. Only the constant restlessness of those few rebels who still held out spirit had kept Shasarak’s roving eye from turning northward – and all knew it would only be a matter of time before the last of even that resistance was crushed.

Pursing his lips, Lone Wolf nodded slowly. “Shadaki?’ he echoed. Certainly Grey Star had the dusky skin and dark hair of that land, although his eyes were an almost silvery grey rather than dark. “Then you are a long way from home. What brings you to such a place?” With a nod of his head, he indicated the dilapidated walls, the mournful wind, and the ever-pressing darkness around them.

“Not my own will,” Grey Star replied grimly, eyes glittering. And then hesitated. “You have heard of the rebellion?”

Lone Wolf nodded slowly. Word passed slowly from the distant southlands to Sommerlund’s shores – but these past months, new rumors had come riding the trade winds with the great merchant fleets to the ports of Dessi: that the impossible had happened, the rebels had rallied behind a new leader and cast Shasarak down forever, crowning a new regent who’d sworn to right the wrongs of Shasarak and lead the allied Free Peoples to healing and peace.

Rumor lied very easily. Such wild talk seemed the weaving of myth and hopeful thinking, not reality.

And yet…

“Shasarak is gone, and his servants scattered and in hiding, those few that remain,” Grey Star said firmly. “But they left behind them twisted magics, scarred landscapes, and deadly traps, both deliberate and not. These last few months, I have been doing what I could to cleanse those tangles.” Looking into the fire, he continued. “I heard rumors of a last stronghold of Shasarak’s fanatics, seeking to revive the mind-magics of the Shadakine Wytches, and traveled to investigate. But… it was a trap. I was ambushed on the road, and taken captive. When I awakened – I was in a cell here.”

Lone Wolf felt his brow furrow as he considered that. “Do you know why you would be targeted by one of the Darklords?” he asked.

Grey Star’s lips quirked, almost amused. “I have my suspicions,” he admitted, as he lifted the cup and breathed deeply of the steam rising from it, before sipping with barely a wince at the heat. Offering it to Lone Wolf, he elaborated. “I suspect I earned the enmity of Agarash, when I defeated Shasarak and cut off Agarash’s attempt to enter this world.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, a glint of wry mischief lurking in his eyes for a moment. “Along with his foot, if I recall correctly.”

Reaching to take the cup, Lone Wolf hesitated, reassessing his young companion – and not bothering to hide that he was doing so. That Grey Star had played a part in the rebellion, he had guessed easily enough. But to have faced, even briefly, Agarash the Damned himself…

_Not to be underestimated, indeed._

“You escaped your cell,” Lone Wolf noted. “Why did you not simply flee this place entirely?”

Grey Star studied him for a long moment. Then, eyes shadowed and unreadable, he pointed to the open doorway behind them. “Look outside,” he said quietly.

Lone Wolf looked at him sharply, but the younger man’s eyes never wavered. Finally, with a short nod, Lone Wolf pushed himself to his feet, careful to do so slowly. No dizziness came over him, however, and despite the lingering ache of his bruises, he found himself far steadier on his feet than expected.

He walked into the next room, aware of Grey Star following behind him. This was, if anything, in even worse repair than the hearthroom. Half of one wall was simply gone, crumbled away and leaving the room open to the crying wind of the dark night…

Then Lone Wolf stepped to the opening, and froze.

The landscape around them was nothing but barren earth, cracking and dry, the wind howling through the ruins of empty houses. Some were little more than piles of rubble; others stood half-shattered or even mostly intact, such as the one where they stood now. Over it all loomed a great castle, or at least what remained of it. The gates hung shattered on their hinges, the walls battered and broken. One wing had collapsed completely, a small mountain of rubble spilling down the hillside. The other…

Lone Wolf swallowed dryly, staring. The other wing of the castle was _gone_ , as though cut away by a knife. Nor had the knife stopped at the castle.

At that line, the world simply _ended_.

Feeling oddly numb, Lone Wolf let his gaze follow that stark line where barren ground gave way to the void, until it vanished in the distance – then out beyond, to where he could see the missing wing of the castle, still fastened to its outcropping of rock, leaning at a mad angle as it turned slowly in the emptiness.

Finally, bracing himself, Lone Wolf looked up.

…strange. Where did the light come from? Because he could see the stark desolation around him, all too clearly. But above…

No stars. No moon. Only an endless, hungry _emptiness_.

“What is this place?” he breathed.

“A lost fragment of a dead world,” Grey Star replied grimly, moving forward to join Lone Wolf at the opening. When Lone Wolf glanced at him, he saw the young wizard was pale under his dusky tan. “My teachers told me of such places,” he said softly. “I admit, I never thought I might see one with my own eyes. Nor did I ever _wish_ to.”

Lone Wolf drew in a slow, deep breath – and then held it, and held it, until his hammering heart had no choice but to slow its racing. Only then did he feel safe to speak.

“A long way from home, indeed,” he said quietly.

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

After a long pause, the Kai Lord shook his head and turned, waving for Grey Star to precede him back into the shelter of the ruined house. The fire elemental still flickered in the ancient stove, anchored in the slow-burning piece of wood he’d scavenged from a shattered chair.

Lone Wolf raised a dubious brow as Grey Star broke away another chair leg and offered it to the fire – a dubious look that turned to a blink of surprise when a whorl of flame licked out, delicately plucking the fuel from the wizard’s hand and drawing it into the hearth.

“The elemental from before?” he asked, as Grey Star retrieved the tea he’d set aside. “Or another?”

“The same,” Grey Star confirmed, picking up the small teapot he’d found in the ruins and giving it a brief swirl to check the amount of liquid inside. Nodding to himself, he topped off the cup with what remained, then set the kettle aside rather than heating more from his depleted supply. He’d found no source of water in the barren landscape, although admittedly his primary concern had been finding a safe haven where he could hole up to rest and wait for Lone Wolf to awaken, after the harrowing scramble to escape the Darklord’s men. But he doubted there would be much to find. This was a world of mournful wind and dust, not of flowing water.

Or of fire. Which only made him more curious about the nature of the creature that nestled in the iron stove. It seemed to be native to this cold, empty place otherwise empty of any signs of fire. He sensed no evil in its heart – not now, nor when it had first answered his plea for aid in freeing the captive Kai Lord from under the Darklord’s very nose. Indeed, it had seemed strangely _pleased_ to strike back at the usurper who had dared make its home into a place of pain.

_A guardian of some kind, I think. Much reduced in strength and might, but still remembering the role it once played, before the great conflict of the higher powers rendered the whole of its world to empty dust and wind._

He wondered which side had struck the final blow. Light could be as ruthless as darkness. But given the enmity the fire spirit had shown towards the Darklord…

Lone Wolf nodded thoughtfully. Then, to Grey Star’s surprise, he turned and bowed to the fire in the hearth. “Then I am in your debt,” he said, before looking at Grey Star. “And yours as well.”

“I would not have left my worst enemy in such straits, given a choice,” Grey Star said fiercely – and mentally winced, remembering Shasarak’s twisted, desperate face as the defeated Wytch-King lunged through the portal, casting himself into the place of Agarash the Damned in return for opening the way for Agarash to re-emerge into Magnamund.

Grey Star did not know what had become of that bargain, after he’d closed the portal and barred Agarash’s intended entrance. But he doubted the results had gone well for Shasarak.

But while his family might have been bound by their oath to the goddess Ishir to never again interfere in the doings of humanity, noninterference did not mean _ignorance_. They kept watch on events beyond the hidden isle of Lorn, sometimes with joy and often with dismay. And they had taught their foundling child what they knew – particularly of foes and friends he might find when the time came for him to face the Wytch-King. He’d heard of Lone Wolf, the sole survivor of the assault on the Kai Monastery, who’d won through Lord Zagarna’s armies, reclaimed the Sommerswerd, and brought an end to the invasion of Sommerlund, some four years before Grey Star had set out on his own quest.

_…which was over seven years ago_ , he remembered with a shock. The time that had passed as he and Tanith crossed the Daziarn sometimes slipped his mind; to him, it had barely been a week.

_I truly doubt those years passed uneventfully in Sommerlund._ Not with Helgedad so near that kingdom’s borders. And not with the hand of Fate lying so heavily on the Kai Lord.

Lone Wolf crossed his arms over his chest, pacing slowly across the room. “Unfortunately, it seems we have escaped our cages only to find we are still imprisoned,” he said, with a nod of his head in the direction of the door and the landscape beyond.

“Not necessarily.” And Grey Star was once again grateful that his teachers’ foresight had included learning in the _languages_ of the world, or else this conversation might have been very difficult indeed.

His response earned him a sharp look from piercing eyes. “Have you mastered the arts of world-walking, then?” the Kai Lord asked. His tone was neutral, but there was a wary edge in his gaze.

Grey Star snorted. “How old do I look?” he asked wryly – and tried not to think of the looming weight of _knowledge-in-potential_ waiting, ever-present, in the back of his mind.

He had returned the Moonstone to his teachers when the war was ended – but he’d carried it, wielded its powers, and delved into its secrets. He and the Stone were linked far more deeply than he cared to contemplate yet. The vast store of its knowledge was locked away from his inexperienced mind for now… but he had to power to open that door and peer inside.

The only question was if he had the strength to survive what waited within.

_It won’t come to that. I hope._ He had been considering the conundrum of their escape for nearly a full day now, and he thought he had found a better solution.

“The Darklord’s servants are human,” he explained. “They need supplies, and I doubt they will find much in this place. More, they brought _us_ here. Somewhere in their stronghold will be a portal linking this world to Magnamund.”

Lone Wolf’s pacing came to a sudden stop as he tuned to face Grey Star fully. “You think you can open the portal yourself?” he asked, eyes still sharp but a hint of hope lurking in their depths.

“So long as the runes are laid and a source of power sufficient to bridge the open space between the worlds is available, yes.” Grey Star hesitated, looking at his hands. “However, there is a catch,” he admitted. “When I was captured, they took my staff. For small spells such as I have used until now, I do not need it. But I would not dare attempt to open a path between the worlds without it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Nor would I leave my staff in a Darklord’s hands, even if I did not need its aid.”

He half-expected Lone Wolf to scoff, or respond with anger. Instead, the man nodded his understanding. “Nor would I leave the Sommerswerd,” he agreed grimly.

Grey Star nodded emphatically. His staff would be a painful loss – and a dangerous one, if they truly meant to use the Darklord’s own portal to make their escape. But it was not irreplaceable. In time, he could attune a new one, as he had after the battle against Shasarak had destroyed his first.

But the Sommerswerd was much more than simply a powerful weapon. It was a symbol of humanity’s struggle against – and often victory over – the Darklords and all their reign would herald.

After his experiences with Sado’s Freedom Guild and the people of Shadaki, Grey Star had come to appreciate the power of symbols. To lose this one would be disastrous. Particularly given that the Darklord’s soldiers had spoken of _plans_.

Thinning his lips, he set those thoughts aside. “Then we have little time to waste.”

* * *

* * *

 

NOTES: (Warning for extreme geekery! Not to mention a _very_ _long_ footnote, even by my ridiculous standards. Feel free to skip!)

* * *

Grey Star retaining the knowledge of the Moonstone locked in the back of his mind is _purely_ headcanon. In part because he wouldn’t be able to continue studying Shianti magic at the end of his adventure otherwise, which is just… well, sad. In part because it just seems cool. And in part because that seems to be consistent with the way the Lorestones of Lone Wolf’s Magnakai Quest work. But he’d still need to study and _learn_ it, just as Lone Wolf needed three years to study the Book of Magnakai. (Or in other words – he has the knowledge, but _accessing_ it will require Character Development. Meaning, not an instant power-up.)

A timeline detail here – we don’t know when, exactly, _Caverns of Kalte_ and _Chasm of Doom_ take place in Lone Wolf’s timeline, based on the information in the books themselves. But _Caverns of Kalte_ probably takes place not long after _Flight from the Dark_ and _Fire on the Water_ , and _Chasm of Doom_ presumably would not have been long before _Shadow on the Sand_ , which in turn would have been at least three and maybe as many as four years before Lone Wolf traveled to meet the Magi, given the three years he spent studying the Book of the Magnakai, and the events of _Kingdoms of Terror_ after that. Meaning that his adventures from _Chasm of Doom_ onwards almost certainly took place after Grey Star left the Isle of Lorn, even in my timeline.

…yes, I’ve spent ridiculous amounts of time trying to figure out how the timelines add up. What gave me away?

Which brings me to the topic of character ages. This doesn’t have a huge amount of impact on the story itself, but it’s something that I spent a lot of time banging my head on, so I’m laying out my thought process here for those who are curious.

Frankly, the impression I got from reading the Lone Wolf books and the Grey Star series was that Grey Star was probably younger than Lone Wolf when he started out, based on the way that they’re characterized, and how people around them react. (And, admittedly, the simple fact that Grey Star’s books are a spinoff series!) Grey Star is definitely young; we actually have a reasonable guess as to a canon age for him, based purely on information in the gamebooks. He washed up on the Isle of Lorn as an “infant” – my guess is, at least four months old (or else he wouldn’t have survived long enough to be found!), but almost definitely under a year – and lived with the Shianti for sixteen years before setting out on his quest. Meaning that he begins his adventures at sixteen and change. On top of that (and, to my mind, far more importantly), he _acts_ like a teenager. Mature and responsible, yes – but his “…seriously?” when he meets the shaman of the Kundi is _hilarious_. And pretty girls fluster him!

As for Lone Wolf – that he started his adventures young, yes, I can buy that, for a given value of _young_. After all, he survived the massacre because he was on firewood duty as punishment for “inattentiveness” – which I read as _sleeping in class_. We don’t know how old novices were when they joined the Monastery, but he’d only mastered five of the ten Disciplines at that point, putting him at Initiate level. My guess was that this would put him in his late teens – seventeen, maybe eighteen; old enough to have lost most of his boyishness, but still young. (After all, it’s highly unlikely, in an educational sense, that the Monastery went around training students in “one Discipline per year” or anything like that. Education doesn’t work that way.) Probably something along the lines of a senior padawan, such as Obi-Wan in _The Phantom Menace_. Lone Wolf exhibits none of the personality cues that say “teenager” to me – but part of that could be the fact that he seems to be a rather humorless, single-minded sort (seriously – it took until the _eighth book in the series_ before I caught him cracking a joke!)… not to mention he probably spent the first two books, and possibly the third as well, in a state of repressed shock!

Long story short? My basic impression, reading the books, was that while Grey Star _acts_ like a teenager, albeit an intelligent, mature and responsible one, Lone Wolf definitely does not. So I figured I was _undershooting_ his age with the seventeen-or-eighteen estimate. And it was based on that assumption that I started writing.

Imagine my surprise, when I finally stumbled across the Q&A section at the end of the Magnamund Companion, and learned that according to Word of God, Lone Wolf is supposedly _fifteen_ in _Flight from the Dark_. Quite frankly, I still don’t buy that. As I mentioned, he gives the reader _no_ impression of being particularly young the way Grey Star does. Moreover, no one _around_ him reacts as though he is a youth – and even in medieval societies, “fifteen” would have counted as “not quite a real adult yet.” Note that in _Flight from the Dark_ , he’s consistently treated as a fully-fledged Kai Lord and also referred to by that title, even by people who _don’t_ know about the massacre, when his age as well as his garb should be marking him out as no more than a student. That’s a bit like, to go back to the Star Wars analogy, calling a padawan “Master Jedi.” People might do it – but they’d also be looking around for the senior Kai Lord who should be accompanying him! In the books, people ask him where the other Kai Lords are - not “where are your teachers.”

(Just for the record, I’d also like to point out that I am not alone in my impression of Lone Wolf being older than fifteen. Look at the picture of him at the end of Banedon’s adventure in the _Magnamund Companion_. Which is set during _Flight from the Dark_ – and in fact, that _same picture_ has been used as a cover for that book! Fifteen? More like _fifty_! Or at least a very weathered thirty.)

Since I do my best to avoid giving absolute ages in this story, it doesn’t really matter one way or another. But for the curious: personally, I’m splitting the difference with my initial impression from the books, and labeling him late sixteen or early seventeen at the time of _Flight from the Dark_ in headcanon. So yes, he and Grey Star are more or less the same age when they each set out on their respective adventures.

In terms of relative ages, however, Lone Wolf is substantially older than Grey Star here. Grey Star’s adventures spanned no more than a few months, from his point of view, and I’m saying that it’s been maybe half a year since then – making him about seventeen at the time of this story. However, based on my changes to the timeline, Lone Wolf’s adventures started three to four years before Grey Star’s – meaning that when Grey Star left the Isle of Lorn at sixteen, Lone Wolf would have been twenty or twenty-one. On top of that, Grey Star spent a few days journeying in the astral dimension of the Dazairn, and returned to learn that _seven years_ had passed in Magnamund. Meaning that at this point, Lone Wolf is approximately ten years older than Grey Star – in his mid-to-late twenties. So, yes, Grey Star looks very young to him.

(Heck, even if I’d stuck to canon timelines and ages, Grey Star would still be six years younger than Lone Wolf in this story, thanks to that jaunt in the Dazairn. Lone Wolf does eventually end up experiencing a similar time-lapse journey through the Dazairn – but that hasn’t happened yet at the point in canon where I’m setting this story.)

Also regarding appearance: Lone Wolf never gets a clear description in the books that I can recall, except that he is fair-skinned and wears the signature green cloak of a Kai Lord. Given that most names in Sommerlund are Germanic or Nordic, and the few character descriptions of Sommlendings we have suggest that they tend to run to blond, I’m assuming he’s likely light-haired as well. I don’t recall any mention of him being particularly tall or short, so I’m assuming he’s average for a Sommlending. He’s also probably very athletic, but not bulging with muscle; Kai are light skirmishers, in military parlance. So, muscled, but likely more along the lines of an acrobat than a professional bodybuilder: agility over bulk.

Grey Star doesn’t get much more in the way of official description – he’s sixteen as of _Grey Star the Wizard_ , wears a cloak over a grey Shianti robe, and his hair is dark with a silver streak (and at least shoulder-length, given that it’s described as “flowing in the wind” at one point). We don’t know his ethnic origins; given the location of the Isle of Lorn, he’s probably either Shadakine or Tian, but as he’s a shipwreck survivor, and Lorn is next to a major port city, he really could be from _anywhere_. Personally, I picture him as “dusky” – Middle Eastern or Indian in coloration, to go with the overall Southern Magnamund setting. Not particularly dark, given that his ally Samu is expressly noted as being _very_ dark-skinned, suggesting an extreme contrast. But also unlikely to be particularly pale (a Sommlending trait). Although it’s possible, because one reason I’m giving him grey eyes (beyond the fact that they fit the character!) is that his signature white streak of hair can be a trait associated with partial albinism – in which case, light-colored eyes are very possible, even if they’re ethnically rare. (This seems probable, as Shadakine eyes are described as being “without pupils” in the _Companion_ – suggesting that they tend towards dark brown or black, and then the age-old "cultural Others aren't really _human_ " thing kicked in. Although Tanith is noted as having bright green eyes. Then again, she’s a scrappy waif of unknown origins in a port city, making mixed heritage very possible.) Grey Star is probably not very heavily built, but he would be athletic – he knows how to use that staff, after all, and he spends his adventures leaping gorges, climbing rock walls, and helping anchor a belay line for a very large, muscular man, among other feats. Not to mention that magic taps physical energy as well as will, apparently – and he grew up knowing he would almost certainly have to fight for his life frequently.

I am basing my depiction of Grey Star’s magic on the opening scene of his book, where you have the option of using Elementalism to speed your journey. Based on that, and the other occasions he uses the power, Elementalism works essentially by opening an opportunity for Elementals to act in this world. Which means Grey Star has little control over _what_ they do (at least until and unless he picks up the advanced form in the fourth book), but in turn can achieve remarkable effects with little effort. He also is shown in that opening scene as interacting on a friendly, cooperative level with the Elementals. Which is also consistent with the way he interacts with the Ksavir in the fourth book. Bunnies are extrapolating from that to argue that much of Shianti magic tends towards a Zen approach: you achieve control over magic by _relinquishing_ control and allowing the magic or Elementals to choose the best course.

This is also a game mechanic issue. In the gamebooks, if Grey Star has used up too much Willpower when the story reaches certain points, either through narrative spell-casting or in combat, _he will die_. Expanding from that, one of Grey Star’s basic rules of survival has to be, “use only as much power as you have to.” Which is one of the classic laws of magic: never use magic when you can accomplish the same effect though mundane means. Which also feeds into another aspect of Grey Star: generally speaking, he operates best as a Guile Hero. Don’t get in a mind-duel with a Shadakine Wytch – plant a suggestion in the weak-minded guy _behind_ her. Need to deal with an army of demons and an army of enemy soldiers? Lead them headlong into each other. Need to topple an emperor? Get _allies_.

Which is also why he is the one emphasizing supply issues. He’s traveled with armies, and bunnies assume that he probably was part of the decision-making process, alongside Sado and Samu. He knows a bit about logistics – something that an independent Hero like Lone Wolf doesn’t normally need to consider, particularly if you decide to pick up Hunting! (Kai Masters may have operated as generals – but Lone Wolf probably never got that sort of training, if he was still picking up the basic disciplines and lore. Canon, he commands a company of mounted soldiers in _Chasm of Doom_ , but they have a commander of their own attached, and that’s still a relatively small group.)

Although, on that topic. Another AU element I’m using in this story is that I categorically reject the idea that Grey Star was made Wizard-Regent of the Free Peoples after the rebellion, as claimed by the magazine epilogue _and_ the _Buccaneers of Shadakine_ book (one of the few places where the two do not contradict each other, amusingly). I reject it because it is a _really bad idea_.

Think about it. Grey Star was raised by nonhuman sages on an isolated island, his only contact with other humans restricted to histories, possibly scrying events in the wider world, and what his foster family taught him. All other factors aside, he’s probably dealing with _culture shock from hell_. (For an example from the books – he _doesn’t get_ why someone would be excited about finding a golden treasure horde. His reaction to hearing that there’s treasure in the Forbidden City is to shrug.) And he certainly doesn’t have the basic social experience to deal with running a kingdom – particularly one that’s been through such a destructive regime. Grey Star would have the people’s support, yes. But Grey Star is more than wise, pragmatic, and _responsible_ enough to recognize he’s not a good choice, and turn them down. (Canon. If you play Grey Star as _not_ being wise, pragmatic, and responsible, he tends to _die_.) Advisor, yes, he can do that. Ruler? Not for a while yet!

What’s more – regents aren’t allowed to run around adventuring, which seems like a waste of a good hero! I understand Ian Page’s logic – according to an interview, he was very clear that he wanted to move on to writing books, not just gamebooks. (With an active goal of trying to invite more women into the genre. Given that we’re talking the 1980’s – good for him!) But look at the situation at the end of _War of the Wizards_. Grey Star’s staff is shattered and needs to be restored or replaced. He has the Moonstone in his hands, and needs to find a way to either return it to the Dazairn or give it to the Shianti, or otherwise deal with any number of nasties who’d be interested in it. (Not to mention _Ishir_.) Mother Magri never was properly dealt with, and her influence over Tanith poses a very real potential threat. Shasarak has vanished into the Dark Realm – he’s not _dead_ , and he is going to bear a grudge. To say nothing of _Agarash_ , who is a level above and beyond the Darklords and now has a _personal_ interest in Grey Star, who thwarted him when he was so close to victory. Not to mention that Shadaki would have been left full of strongholds that would be land mines of dark magic. There is _plenty_ of room for adventure left for fans to imagine, even if Dever and Page never wrote it!

(Yes, I handwaved two of those for this story – he’s gotten the Moonstone back to the Shianti, and he’s gotten himself a new staff.)

On top of that, even when he’s ready to settle down, he really should be founding a school, not running a kingdom. There are plenty of skilled leaders who can handle the Free Peoples of Southern Magnamund. Grey Star is the _only_ one who can pass on the magic of the Shianti!

Long story short: the Free Peoples of Shadaki need their wizard-hero being a _wizard_ and a _hero_ far more than they need a figurehead. Particularly when they _have_ a good charismatic leader who’s been in charge for over seven years already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a cute omake of sorts: Given that Asharak actually had a foot through the portal when Grey Star managed to close it? Bunnies cherish the mental image of the great Demonlord stumping around the Nether on crutches, muttering balefully about upstart young whippersnapper wizards…


	3. Chapter 3

Cursing the creeping cold and the wailing whirl of the wind, the soldier squinted through the gloom, alert for any hint of movement on the desolate landscape below. And trying not to let his eyes stray to the eerie drift of shattered stones the size of hills and mountains, hanging weightless in the void beyond the edge of the world.

Normally, these walls needed no guards. This place lay barren and dead; no threat would come from without. But following the escape of the accursed Sunsman, all forces were alert – particularly when the dread lord had discovered that the grey wizard, too, had vanished from his cell. They could be anywhere, and so he stood on the cold wall, ready to raise the cry the moment his vigilant watch glimpsed anything out of place.

Unfortunately for the hapless guard, the howl of the wind covered the sound of soft footsteps approaching from behind. He had no warning before a sudden impact enveloped his world in black. A black that would never lift, as he toppled over the battlements to break his neck on the rocks below.

Lone Wolf turned and waved a quick signal. Grey robe fading into the shadows as he kept watch for wandering patrols from the pile of rubble where the outer wall of the fortress had crumbled away, the scar of time or a long-past siege, Grey Star nodded, hood pulled up to hide any betraying gleam from that white streak of hair in the odd half-light. And then he was sprinting across the open courtyard, darting across the rubble-strewn ground with startling agility as he raced for the shadow of what once had been a servant’s entrance.

Lone Wolf waited as his companion ran, crouched low in the shadow of the crenellations as his eyes scanned over the surrounding walls and courtyard and darted up to check rooftops and watchtowers, wary of any new guards coming to relieve the fallen sentry. His bow rested ready in his hand, an arrow already nocked – but given a choice, he didn’t want to use it. The sentry on the wall had been necessity, to access the fortress through this weak point. But the more guards they killed, the greater the odds that someone would notice something was wrong.

But Grey Star reached the fortress safely. Instead of dashing headlong inside, however, he pressed himself against the wall and edged his way to the frame of the dark opening. He paused there, clearly listening hard, before risking a careful look inside. Then, in a flicker of movement, he vanished into the darkness.

Lone Wolf had to fight not to hold his breath.

A few moments later, however, the wizard reappeared, signaling with a single quick gesture: _Clear._

Lone Wolf breathed a sigh of relief and returned the arrow to his quiver before slinging the bow, still strung, over his shoulder. He returned to the ground the same way he had come, using the jutting stones of the ancient wall almost as a ladder to clamber down.

Then it was his turn to race for the door, bow back in his hand and fighting to remain aware of everything around him rather than letting his vision tunnel down to the dark rectangle that was his destination.

Halfway across the barren courtyard, a tremor in the air and earth heralded exactly what he least wished to hear: the heavy, rhythmic tramp of marching feet.

The world seemed to slow around him, even his own body, as Lone Wolf allowed his mind to slip into the endless _now_ of combat-readiness. This was the skill that had kept him alive through all that the world and the Darklords had flung at him since the destruction of the Kai Monastery, years ago. It was not speed of a physical sort, nor the ability to see the future. Instead, his mind moved faster, allowing him to see and assess his options in the space of a heartbeat, and choose…

Lone Wolf turned his dash into a dive, slapping the ground to turn his impact into a silent roll that carried him into the concealing shadow of a massive piece of rubble, a section of the wall that by some strange chance had managed to remain mostly intact when the wall had collapsed. His momentum brought him up into a low crouch at the base of the mortared stones, pressed into the deepest shadows.

Then there was nothing he could do but slow his breathing, still his body, and pray that the green of his Kai cloak, meant for concealment in the forests and grasslands of Sommerlund, would not catch the eyes of the patrol. There were limits to how deeply he could veil his presence, with no time to sink into the more advanced meditation of nothingness that would let an observer’s eyes slip past him even in plain sight.

_Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!_

Lone Wolf’s eyes narrowed slightly in the shadows as the sound grew to a deafening thunder. There were too many for a mere patrol on the search for escaped prisoners – and no guard patrol would be marching in step-

Confusion gave way to shock, as a line of dark-armored men passed the rubble that served as his hiding place and came into sight.

And another. And another. And _another_ , and still they kept coming-

This was no patrol. It was a full battalion, marching together in tight ranks as they passed through the courtyard. Lone Wolf estimated them to number a good fifty men, marching in ten rows of five, all wearing the helms and heavy armor of Drakkarim heavy infantry and armed with long pikes in addition to shields and heavy swords.

Fifty-one men. A single officer walked alongside them, eyes glittering dangerously in the shadow of his helm as he shouted a command and the battalion wheeled ninety degrees, marched briefly until they were directly in front of Lone Wolf’s hiding place amidst the rubble – which suddenly felt very small indeed – and then wheeled back to their original heading with another command.

_Practice maneuvers_ , Lone Wolf realized with a sudden shock. He had seen Sommerlund’s regular army at practice a few times, although his own training had been as an officer, and that only the very basics, enough to work with soldiers at need.

But neither had he ever heard of the Drakkarim practicing them. Oh, they were disciplined fighters – they would not have presented half the threat to the free people of Magnamund that they did without that terrifying cohesive _focus_ that only sprang from training together under a single banner and purpose. But this sort of careful, controlled maneuvering… this was new.

Then the commander of the battalion turned to glance back along the marching line, apparently checking for stragglers or disorder in the line. His eyes landed directly on the shadow where Lone Wolf hid, and he frowned.

A shouted command brought the line to a halt, and the officer began to stalk back along their ranks, eyes narrowed.

Lone Wolf forced himself to breathe slowly, and remain absolutely still, calling on all a Kai Lord’s skills of camouflage and deception. The commander had not yet seen him. If he had, he would have ordered his men to attack, rather than investigating himself. But if Lone Wolf bolted, he would be seen for certain, and even he could not fight fifty-one heavily armored soldiers.

_Though it may come to that even if I do not_ , he thought uneasily, as the officer drew closer and closer. Perhaps he could not see Lone Wolf – but though the Kai Lord’s Discipline might cloud his perceptions, clearly the man suspected _something_ was amiss.

Under his cloak, Lone Wolf rested his hand on the long dagger at his belt and thinned his lips. If it did come to that – he would flee out of the fortress again. He could doubtless outrun the soldiers, particularly over broken ground. He might be able to lose them in the rubble and shattered landscape. And if he could not, at least he would have drawn them away from his ally…

But the officer was still frowning in concentration and puzzlement, not alarm, even as he stood scarcely four paces from where Lone Wolf crouched in the shadows.

Then the man shook his head, the plume on his helmet whipping with the motion, and turned away, shouting a sharp command to the regiment to begin marching again.

Only when the group had rounded the side of the keep and vanished from sight did Lone Wolf finally allow himself to breathe, shakily. Even with a Kai Lord’s Discipline of Camouflage, to hide in plain sight from a wary man who had looked straight at him, without any distraction to scatter the enemy’s perceptions…

Something odd caught the corner of his eye, and he blinked.

The faded color of his cloak might be blamed on the shadows and half-light that seemed to paint the world in dull grey and black monochrome. But not the odd, angular blotchiness that made the folds of his cloak look like nothing more than a few extra bricks on the edge of the pile. And when he finally dared stir from his cover, his cloak was once again green, as though the whole thing had been nothing more than a trick of the light.

Lone Wolf smiled wryly. _Or a trick of something else entirely_.

Fortunately, he was able to cover the rest of the distance without further event, slipping into the darkness where Grey Star waited, lips pressed together so hard they’d turned pale.

“Thank you,” Lone Wolf said quietly.

Grey Star breathed a shaky almost-laugh. “Thank me by refraining from any more close calls,” he said with a flicker of a strained smile.

Lone Wolf chuckled at that, and didn’t bother to pretend it was any less shaken. He would be more than content to avoid another such encounter, himself.

Even so, he hesitated, glancing back the way that the soldiers had gone.

“What is it?” Grey Star asked quietly.

“You have seen far more of this place than I,” Lone Wolf said slowly, still staring after the soldiers. “Tell me… are _all_ the Darklord’s forces here human?”

He saw the wizard blink from the corner of his eye. “So far as I have seen, yes,” the younger man admitted. “Is this strange? My knowledge of the Darklords is limited to what my own teachers could tell me. But the Drakkarim have been sworn to the Darklords’ service for millennia.”

Lone Wolf frowned. “The legions of Helgedad are drawn to power. Whoever this Darklord may be, he has that in plenty – and the intelligence to wield it.”

Grey Star grimaced. “There is no foe so deadly as the one that thinks,” he murmured.

Startled, Lone Wolf turned away from the courtyard to look at the wizard. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.

Grey Star blinked, then smiled, a hint of sheepishness to it. “My teachers were fond of proverbs.”

Lone Wolf had to fight the urge to press the young wizard. When last he had heard those words, it had been from the lips of Patient Fire, the weaponsmaster of the Monastery before Zagarna’s assault had slain everyone but a young initiate known until that day as Silent Wolf. But this was neither the time nor the place to pursue old memories. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to focus once more.

“The legions of Helgedad should flock to any Darklord’s banner,” he said. “And many would not suffer the need for supplies from a living world, either. And yet I have seen no sign of Giaks or Helghasts in this place. Where are they?”

“Or perhaps better to ask,” Grey Star said thoughtfully, “what does our enemy gain by foregoing their service?”

“…I cannot say I like that thought,” Lone Wolf said grimly. Drawing in a breath, he forced his shoulders to loosen. “Be that as it may, we gain as well,” he said. “The darkness clouds human eyes no matter what their allegiances.”

They would need that advantage, because they had no choice but to rely on stealth, rather than the subterfuge Grey Star had used to move more or less freely through the Darklord’s stronghold. The single stolen uniform the wizard had used could not hide them both. And while human eyes might be fooled by such things, dark things gathered in dark places, and many such beings would know a Kai Lord’s presence, no matter how Lone Wolf tried to mask it.

And, as Grey Star had succinctly noted, if Lone Wolf could not hide, then neither would a disguise offer any benefit to the wizard. Better to return to his grey robes, and hopefully prevent the Darklord from discovering how Grey Star had managed to evade the guards before. They might well need the trick again, later.

Which meant they had to work their way hall by hall, dark corridor by dark corridor, often ducking aside or hastily backtracking to avoid a wandering patrol or stray guard. Shattered as it might be on the outside, the fortress was alive with activity.

Although that did grant them one advantage. Such active usage meant far less in the way of traps such as Lone Wolf had encountered in other fortresses he’d infiltrated. Even so, Lone Wolf kept a wary eye on the walls, ceilings and floors as they forged deeper into the fortress, always aiming to work their way upwards. He’d seen how much concern the Darklords spared for the lives of their servants in the Tomb of the Majhan, in blood-spattered walls where Giaks had been sent headlong into the protective traps, their bodies used as filling material for any pits that might open in the floors. He doubted this one would think any more of the lives of his human soldiers.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Grey Star doing the same – and so Lone Wolf immediately froze when the young wizard glanced out a window as they passed, and suddenly stiffened. “Lone Wolf,” he whispered. “Look.”

Forewarned by the wizard’s tone, Lone Wolf braced himself as he approached the window. Even so, he froze in shock when he saw what lay beyond.

They’d made their way all the way around, to the back of the keep. Here, rather than a wall, the fortress was guarded by a steep drop-off, easily fifty feet or more, with only a narrow road carved into the face, exposed every foot of the way to anything the defenders chose to rain down, if an attacking force were to attempt to take the fortress from that direction.

But the army below was not there to attack.

Lone Wolf stared down at the vast encampment spread across the wide plain below, feeling strangely numb for a long moment. He counted at least ten major centers of activity, command tents of the sort used by the lord of a Drakkarim legion. Around each, he could make out companies, perhaps as many as ten to a command tent.

_And at least one hundred men per company…_ His hand tightened on the edge of the window as he stared at the black banners flying in the ghostly wind.

Something tugged at him about those flags – less a Kai Lord’s mystic senses, and more an instinct born of the many battlegrounds he had experienced. Even so, it took him a long moment to realize what it was that he saw.

Or rather, did not see.

Black banners. A plain, stark field of black, without a single heraldic device to mark whom these men followed.

“Grey Star,” he said quietly, unease raising the hair on the back of his neck. “Do you know the name of the enemy we face here?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pale flicker of Grey Star’s white lock as the wizard shook his head – once inside, he’d pulled his hood back, so that his peripheral vision and hearing would not be impaired. “No. Even among themselves, the soldiers never spoke his name.”

Nor had the Darklord declared himself to Lone Wolf, though he’d had the Kai Lord helpless in his grasp with no hope of escape. Why?

Grey Star had turned away from the window. “We cannot afford any more delays,” he said fiercely. “We must find a way back to Magnamund, and quickly.”

Lone Wolf glanced out at the gathered army again, and felt his heart drop. “You think he plans an invasion.”

“Can you think of any other purpose for such a gathering?” Grey Star’s eyes were narrowed, calculating. “It would be near-impossible to stockpile enough supplies to feed such a force, even for only a day or two. And there is nothing to forage here. If he has gathered so many, then he means to move _soon_.” Meeting Lone Wolf’s eyes, he added, “And once they have departed… the Darklord will have no more need of this place. He may simply destroy the portal behind him.”

Leaving them stranded. Lone Wolf’s hands tightened into fists.

“We cannot search the whole of this place,” he said, trying to slow his racing mind and _think_. “There must be some way of narrowing the area down.” And he would not think of the possibility that the Sommerswerd and Grey Star’s staff had already been taken from this place. If that were the case, there was little they could do at this point save to trust to fickle luck..

Grey Star hesitated. “I may have a way,” he said slowly. “But it would require your aid.”

Taken aback, Lone Wolf looked at him. “I am no wizard,” he pointed out.

“But the Sommerswerd was forged for the hand of a Kai Lord,” Grey Star replied, “and you have wielded it against the Darklords before. You are connected to it. There may be a way to trace it.” He swallowed slightly. “I must warn you, however – I have never done anything like this before. I do not know if it will work, or what may happen if it does. Although I suspect we will both be blind to our surroundings until the spell has run its course.”

Lone Wolf paused for a long moment, considering. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned to study their surroundings.

The room they’d paused within had once been some form of study, although all traces of documents had long ago crumbled to dust. Stepping around the broken traces of glass still scattered over the floor beneath the window, Lone Wolf grabbed the heavy chair lying overturned beside the desk. Gritting his teeth, he lifted it with a quiet grunt and carried it to the door, wedging it beneath the latch.

“That will not hold for long, if an enemy should try to force it,” he warned. “But hopefully it will buy us enough time.” Levelly, he met Grey Star’s eyes. “What do you need of me?”

“You know the Discipline of Pathfinding, do you not?” Grey Star asked. “Focus upon it. Seek the trail of the Sommerswerd. And open your mind to me.”

Lone Wolf blinked. The Discipline of Pathfinding was far more than simply following a track upon the earth, yes. It aided him in understanding strange tongues, given time. Let him trace so small a creature as a mouse across windswept stone, at need. Kept him always oriented to the farthest points of the world, so that he knew at all times which way lay north. But how could one track an inanimate object, no matter how powerful?

But he had said he would try.

_And when we are free of this place, I would know more of Grey Star’s teachers._ First the wizard had voiced one of the great sayings of Kai Lord lore – now he spoke easily of one of the Magnakai Disciplines, of which only those within the Monastery who had reached the rank of Master were taught.

But for now… closing his eyes, Lone Wolf breathed deep.

Immediately his mind’s eye perceived Grey Star’s presence. Now that the wizard had not cloaked himself with the will to hide, his aura shone a soft, radiant silver, edged with flickers of color that brought to mind the faint rainbow corona of a full moon shining through mist.

Then the silver light brightened, intensified, warmed to sun-gold…

_And he beheld the Sommerswerd lying upon a table, spectral flickers of sunfire dancing upon blade and hilt alike, relentlessly burning away the touch of surrounding darkness. By that light he saw a room, round, the ancient wooden floor warped by time and marked by dark stains. And something else – a shape, long and straight, dark but threaded through with moonlight._

_A door obscured the room, guarded by two heavily armed and alert soldiers. His vision drew back further, and further still, down a long stair, through winding halls, through doorways and rooms, down another stair, along a short hall, through a room, through a door braced closed by an old chair-_

Lone Wolf came back to himself with a start. So disoriented had the vision left him that he actually reeled, the floor feeling uncertain under his feet, and only kept himself upright by reflexively grabbing Grey Star’s shoulder, his weight making the much lighter young man stagger.

“It worked,” he breathed. He could _feel_ the path, blazing gold in his mind, vivid enough that he would not have been shocked to see it with his physical eyes.

“It did.” Grey Star almost sounded surprised. When Lone Wolf released his shoulders, the wizard reached up to rub at his temple lightly with a hand, as though trying to ease away the seeds of a headache, and then straightened, grey eyes sharp. “Lead the way, then.”

 

~ _Nexus of Light_ ~

 

Lone Wolf narrowed his eyes, studying the lock warily, then glanced at Grey Star, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

Grey Star shook his head; he could sense no magic in the lock.

Nodding, Lone Wolf stepped back a few cautious paces, and then fixed his gaze on the lock and _stilled_.

Grey Star waited, keeping one wary eye on the hall behind them and a warier ear listening intently for any hint of approach. Since they had left the lower floors of the keep, the patrols and guards had all but vanished, leaving nothing but a seemingly endless sequence of empty rooms and corridors, devoid even of traps, with nothing but the stone-muffled moan of the wind to break the silence.

And a soft _click_ , as tumblers fell into place as if of their own accord and the door creaked open.

Grey Star breathed a sigh of relief, and sensed more than saw Lone Wolf do the same. Neither of them trusted this eerie, unexpected quiet.

Stepping through the door behind the Kai Master, however, Grey Star had to pause.

“The central tower,” he murmured, almost amused. “Why, that isn’t predictable at _all_.”

The words nearly vanished in the howl of the wind. In the corridors, stone walls had muffled the wail. Here, however, the curve of stone simply flung the sound back and forth until the reverberations filled the hollow heart. Wooden floors had once filled the space; Grey Star could still see remnants of the supporting braces and rafters crisscrossing the open space at each landing of the winding stair that spiraled its way up along the outer wall, and even shadowed indentations above stones jutting out from the walls that must have once been hearths to fill long-vanished rooms with light and warmth. But all that filled the hollow lower tower now were ghosts, painted in shadows and the ever-present sound of the wind, and the wooden base of a surviving level, a good five or six flights above their heads.

Nothing stirred. Nothing at all.

“This is a trap,” Grey Star said, voice low and flat.

Lone Wolf nodded shortly. “That, I do not doubt,” he replied, equally quiet. “The Darklord must know that we will seek our weapons, and the portal. He need not hunt us, when he knows we will come to him.”

Grey Star released a low sigh, fighting the urge to shiver from a cold that had nothing to do with physical chill. His only close encounter with a being of such ilk before this day had been that brief confrontation with Agarash the Damned, in the heart of Shasarak’s sanctum. Even then, he had not faced the Demonlord directly, closing the gate that would allow the demon access to Magnamund even as Agarash began to pass through.

That alone had been more than close enough.

Nevertheless, they had little choice but to continue. Drawing in a deep breath, he glanced at the Kai Lord and nodded silent readiness. Lone Wolf nodded briefly in response, and then ghosted forward, easing his way up the stairs cautiously, testing each step for any hint of looseness before trusting any weight to it. Grey Star followed behind, keeping as close to the wall as he could without impeding his ability to move swiftly, should the need arise. He sensed no magics in this space; trusting the Kai Lord to search for any physical traps, Grey Star set himself to watching the door above as well as the one through which they had entered below. He was painfully aware of how exposed they were. The stairs would afford them no cover from attack, if enemies were to enter the tower now; it lacked even a railing between them and the steadily growing drop to the hard stone of the tower floor.

And still _nothing happened_ , and Grey Star found himself wanting to scream in frustration.

Pausing, he forced himself to _breathe_ , slow and deep.

_Stop. You are giving him what he wants. Darklords are the servants of Naar; they thrive on fear and uncertainty. This is a mental attack, meant to sap your strength with the tension of endless vigilance. You_ must _have will enough to withstand it, or you will defeat yourself._

Not an easy thing. But not easy did _not_ mean impossible.

_And what is wizardry, but strength of will?_

Ahead, Lone Wolf had paused on the stairs. The long climb had brought them to the last flight below the intact upper levels of the tower, and Lone Wolf was studying the door ahead with a troubled look in his eye.

“What is wrong?” Grey Star asked quietly, moving close so that they could speak without their voices echoing from the walls.

“If the vision your spell showed to me is accurate,” Lone Wolf murmured, “beyond that door is a short hallway, guarded at the far end by two soldiers. We _must_ get past them; there is no avoiding this fight.”

Grey Star grimaced, hands almost physically _aching_ for the familiar heft of his staff. His family had known he would need to defend himself physically as well as magically; though none of them were warriors, they had taught him as much as they could, and he had practiced for endless hours until his staff was as much an extension of his body as of his magic. The war against Shasarak had honed that training, sometimes painfully, and his friends had taught him a few new tricks as well.

But at the moment, he had no staff, only a small dagger he’d received as a parting gift when he’d left the mist-shrouded island. He lacked even the protection afforded by Lone Wolf’s heavy leather jerkin. He was not helpless – but in the close flurry of melee combat in such a confined setting, he would be more hindrance than help to Lone Wolf. The Kai Lord would have to fight the guards alone.

Lone Wolf shook his head, as though he’d read something of Grey Star’s thoughts from his face. “Under normal circumstances, I could handle two guards, even armed with only a knife,” he said. “But if I cannot take them by surprise…” He hesitated. “Is there anything you can do, to cloud their minds and buy me some seconds?”

Grey Star narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking. The greatest danger to Lone Wolf would be as he opened the door. From here, Grey Star could see the hinges, set to the left; the door would open outwards, costing Lone Wolf moments to pull it clear before he could get through, and warning the guards. After that, Lone Wolf would have to run down the hall to engage them. But how to buy him time? An illusion seemed the best answer, but any image he cast would itself alarm the guards that something was afoot. And though the Kai Lord would be resistant, there was still a danger that any illusion Grey Star cast would hamper him as well. And though Grey Star could teleport himself – he had never attempted the spell with another, and he shied from the thought of making the attempt without the aid of his staff.

Worse, he was all too aware that he had already used far more of his energy than he liked, in weaving the spell to show them the path – not from the spell itself, but from the effort of opening his mind, even slightly, to the endless _knowledge_ of the Moonstone’s echo. He had barely managed to wrest his mind back from that overwhelming flood in time, and the effort had cost him.

And he knew that once they retrieved the Sommerswerd, they would have to race against time itself to find the portal back to Magnamund; there would be no time to gather his strength before facing that challenge.

_Which means I must be clever now, rather than powerful… Wait. It is not time itself Lone Wolf needs, but_ surprise _. So. What would most_ startle _the guards?_

He couldn’t help the small smile that flickered over his face as the answer came to him.

“There is,” he said, ignoring Lone Wolf’s curious look at his expression. “I can keep them from seeing you open the door, at the very least.”

Lone Wolf nodded decisively. “That alone will be enough,” he said firmly, and drew his dagger. “Signal me when you are ready,” he said, and began making his way up the final set of stairs.

Grey Star followed, building the image he wanted in his mind, and weaving the threads that would fool mind and magic and the world itself into acknowledging what he crafted as truth.

It was easy; he could have crafted this illusion when he was _ten_. The heart of illusion was plausibility, and nothing was more plausible than _what was there_. The trick would be to capture that, and _hold_ it, even when the truth underlying the illusion changed…

Magic settled into place. Catching Lone Wolf’s eye, Grey Star nodded.

Breathing deep and level in readiness, the Kai Lord nodded faintly in return and reached down, grasping the handle of the door in his left hand as his right held the dagger ready. Slowly, carefully, he turned the handle, so slowly that Grey Star only knew the latch had released when Lone Wolf began to ease the door open, alert for any betraying squeal of ancient hinges. But Grey Star’s illusion held; the hinges, believing themselves still and closed, remained silent as the door swung wide.

From where he stood, Grey Star couldn’t see inside. He only saw Lone Wolf stiffen, then forcibly relax as he eyed what he saw on the other side, shifting his grip on the dagger slightly, resetting the position of his feet, drawing in one last bracing breath.

Then he charged.

By the time Grey Star reached the open door, Lone Wolf was hurtling down the hallway, grimly silent. The guards were still gaping in shock, too stunned by seeing their enemy appear like a ghost through what seemed to them to be the solid wood of a still-closed door to react in time. Before they were able to respond, Lone Wolf had closed the distance and was on them; twisting to the side to avoid a half-raised blade, the Kai Lord lunged in close, grappling with its wielder. The other guard snarled and brought his sword whistling down, forcing Lone Wolf to recoil, breaking the lock-

And the first guard dropped to the ground dead, Lone Wolf’s knife buried to the hilt in the gap between the shoulderguard and helmet of his heavy armor.

But now Lone Wolf was unarmed, and facing a heavily armored enemy who wielded both sword and shield. Before Grey Star could do more than catch his breath in alarm, however, Lone Wolf dodged a second blow by swaying to the side, then ducked his head and charged, ramming his shoulder into the guard’s stomach, where the solid breastplate gave way to a mail shirt. The breath knocked out of him, the guard slammed into the door behind him with a crash. Cursing breathlessly, he tried to hammer the hilt of his sword down on Lone Wolf’s unshielded head. Quick as a cornered snake, Lone Wolf caught the wrist of the guard’s sword-hand and _twisted_ viciously. He paid for it with a painful punch to his cheek that sent him staggering back – but he staggered back with the guard’s sword in _his_ hand.

The guard lunged after him, and Lone Wolf swung. Metal screamed against metal, and the guard started back, a long scratch gleaming brilliant silver across his breastplate where the deflected sword had stripped the black finish from it.

But the guard’s eyes had a thoughtful gleam in the shadows of his helmet as he assessed the situation. Lone Wolf was armed now, but unless the Kai Lord managed to slip through a weak point, at one of the joints, or punch through the heavy mail, the sword was too light to breach the heavy armor.

_He can draw this out_ , Grey Star realized, eyes narrowing. The guard was both heavily armored and fresh. Lone Wolf had not rested since he’d awakened from unconsciousness. And his lighter armor would allow him no mistakes. And every moment the battle drew itself out, the greater the chance that the guard would call out for reinforcements. Surely they would not have been posted with no way to raise the alarm…

Lone Wolf clearly recognized the danger; he moved forward, trying to press the guard harder. But the guard gave ground, clearly having taken the measure of the situation. The two moved back and forth along the length of the hall, Lone Wolf trying to find an opening in the guard’s defenses, while the guard watched and waited, ramming forward with his shield whenever he could.

_We don’t have the time for this._ Considering his options, Grey Star braced himself – and then, when the guard was looking away, stepped forward and into the hallway.

He knew the instant the guard saw him, by the flash of sudden, predatory attention as the battle surged back towards him again. Lone Wolf moved slightly sideways to check what the man was looking at; Grey Star saw the flash of alarm in the Kai Lord’s eyes as he saw Grey Star standing in plain sight-

Then the guard charged, shoving his shield into Lone Wolf to get past as he went for the unarmed and unarmored wizard standing just inside the door. The move opened his back to Lone Wolf, who lunged in a desperate strike at the man’s knees – but the blow skidded off the armor without breaking the man’s momentum as he barreled down on Grey Star.

_Now!_

Heart in his throat, Grey Star stepped _into_ the charge, thwarting the attempt to grab him as he suddenly was too _close_ , and grabbed the guard’s arm and shoulder himself. He had no possible chance of breaking the much heavier man’s momentum, however – and he didn’t try. Instead, he pivoted sharply, twisting the man over his hip and past him as he went, and let go with a fierce _shove_. Suddenly off-balance and out of control, the guard staggered forward, grabbing for the door to catch himself-

-and fell straight through illusory wood, tumbling headlong out the door and onto the landing beyond. The small landing, the railing-less edge, and a long, long drop.

Grey Star winced at the piercing scream and the final, fatal _thud_ that suddenly cut it off, not sure if he was wincing because of the danger that others would hear, or in pained, reflexive empathy.

Breathing still a little harsh and stolen sword still in hand, Lone Wolf joined him. “…That was well done,” he said, after a moment.

Grey Star shook his head, not so much in negation as trying to calm his racing heart down. “We couldn’t afford a drawn-out battle,” he said. “And I know something of self-defense.”

_“You are the heart of the Freedom Guild,”_ Sado had said, flat and hard, the first time they’d been able to pause and catch their breath after the battle of the Forest of Fernmost. _“With you, we have_ hope _. I am_ not _going to lose you to some lucky Wytch-King scum with a knife.”_

That had been the start of some very _painful_ lessons. To the point where Grey Star had wearily accused Sado and Samu of getting revenge for the seven years he’d lost traveling the Daziarn.

Sado hadn’t even bothered denying it, while Samu had just grinned. _“I wouldn’t toss you around so much if you weren’t so skinny,”_ the giant man had said, and then plucked Grey Star clean off the ground and tucked him under one arm, just to make his point.

Heh. Grey Star had gotten out of _that_ one quickly enough. Samu had looked like a startled fish. Sado had nearly fallen over laughing.

_Be well, all of you. I_ will _make it back, I swear._

Lone Wolf was already at the far door, inspecting the handle. He stepped back with a dark look.

“It’s unlocked,” he said flatly.

Grey Star drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes. But this close, the powerful magic of the Sommerswerd drowned out any other power, even when he gingerly tried to test the strands of possibilities tangled around it. It wasn’t just enchanted; the sword _was_ magic, the essence of sunlight woven in steel, and trying to see beyond that blazing light was like trying to see the stars at high noon. All he knew was that light was there, and darkness, and terrible danger…

_And we have no path to take, save through it._

He and Lone Wolf exchanged a quick nod – and then the Kai Lord threw the door open.

The room beyond must have spanned nearly the full diameter of the tower. Away from the echo chamber of the open atrium below, the cry of the wind was once more muffled, a faint sound playing in the back of the mind that mingled unsettlingly with a hint of scent. Or perhaps less a scent and more a taste in the back of his throat as he breathed in; a subtle metallic tang, like heated iron or copper.

From the dark stains on time-warped floorboards, Grey Star thought he could venture a guess as to the cause.

_But if it is fresh enough to smell, however faintly… I do not think the blood was spilled long enough ago to be part of the castle’s destruction_ , he thought uneasily, blinking stinging eyes. After over a day of darkness and shadows, low torches and eerie half-light, the golden blaze lighting the room dazzled his vision, making it hard to properly see.

That golden light came from the finely crafted sword lying on a scarred and stained table. The light burned steady and strong – but something about it gave Grey Star the impression of dancing flames, as though the sword were rebelling against the darkness around it of its own accord.

It almost hurt to look at in a way that had nothing to do with sunglare dazzling his eyes, as well. The Moonstone had been overwhelming; the essence of magic itself, the store of all mystic knowledge. Too _overwhelming_ to encompass all at once, and there were reasons he only attempted to brush that echo locked in the back of his mind at times of great need. But the Sommerswerd…

_I know this magic_ , he realized suddenly. The twist and weave of the spells – they were familiar in a way he’d never expected to feel again.

And yet…

“Something is wrong here,” he said slowly, taking a careful step sideways to get a better look without actually approaching the blazing weapon. As he did so, he noticed a familiar shadow on the far wall and felt a jolt of relief. His staff!

_Wait._ Think. _It cannot be this easy. There is a catch. Where?_

Lone Wolf was eyeing the blade, clearly caught between the urge to rush forward and take it, and the same unease that Grey Star felt. “There is danger here, but I see no sign of traps,” he said slowly. “Unless they be on the blade itself…”

“Any magic cast on that blade would burn away before ever touching it,” Grey Star told him.

Lone Wolf’s hand tightened on the sword he’d taken from the guard. “I don’t understand this,” he gritted. “Why is there nothing? Surely the Darklord knew we would come for it!”

“Oh, yes. Truly, you _are_ predictable.”

Heart racing, Grey Star whirled. How – he hadn’t sensed _anything_ , seen anything…

_The light. Oh Ishir, why didn’t I see it? He was using the Sommerswerd’s own light to hide his presence!_

“Then again,” the Darklord said thoughtfully, stepping past the table, “that is what it means to be one of the great Kai Lords, in this day and age. A child, so dependent upon a bright toy that you walk into my hands, even _knowing_ you step into a trap.”

And he smiled, an eerily human smile.

Grey Star swallowed, hard. Before, he had not seen the Darklord clearly; uncertain of the entity’s powers, he’d chosen to avoid looking upon him directly, both to avoid any traps in his gaze and to keep the Darklord from sensing eyes upon him. But he knew of them, from his teachers’ instruction and what they had shown him of the events beyond the Isle, before he left to face Shasarak. And he had seen more than a few illustrations, many among the documents kept by the Shadakine wytches and Shasarak himself. Twisted, massive figures that the mind revolted from truly grasping, leaving the viewer with only shying, disjointed impressions even as he stared directly at them.

They didn’t look… human.

But though there was something faintly _off_ about the Darklord’s form, almost childlike, as though he’d taken the figure of a child and reshaped it in size and form to echo a grown man, only the eyes, black upon black upon black, betrayed that something wholly inhuman stared out of his vessel.

The eyes, and the choking, crushing, endless sense of darkness closing in around them.

“Do you even know what that toy is, young stray?” the Darklord asked, tone betraying nothing but simple curiosity. “A memento. The last remnant of allies that _your own guardians,_ my counterparts, drove away, banishing them from the world of men, because they were too strong.” He shook his head, smirking. “I am evil, little stray pup. I have never claimed to be otherwise. But neither have I ever claimed that my actions were ever…” He paused, and disdain dripped from the silence. “ _…for your own good_.”

The world was shrinking down to a dark shroud, defined solely by those poisonous words. Grey Star shook his head fiercely, trying to clear it. _Guardians. Counterparts. He means_ Ishir _. And through her, Kai._

But if this Darklord spoke of Kai as his _counterpart_ …

Then they weren’t facing a mere _Darklord_ at all.

Grey Star bit down on the inside of his lip, _hard_. The pain shook part of the spell away – and more than that, the sacrifice of a trace of his own blood acted as a very primal shield, pushing the words back, and the world clicked into place again. Suddenly, he realized that the demon was coming forward, _sauntering_ almost, an easy step for every easy, thoughtful word, bearing down on Lone Wolf.

The Kai Lord was shaking his head slowly, swaying on his feet and eyes glazed. He was fighting that voice, fighting with a strength beyond human-

But he had the full force of that dark being’s attention turned on him. And weary and wounded in mind as Lone Wolf still was from his earlier captivity…

_He needs help_.

Grey Star’s hand flew up to grab the red gem hanging around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lone Wolf’s trick of slowing down time so he can make well-considered choices lightning-fast is my translation of the basic mechanic of gamebooks: after all, no matter if the _narrative_ says you must choose instantly, the _reader_ can take as long as she darn well pleases to consider her options and available information. It seems like a perfect skill for a Fantasy Jedi, anyway. (Note that, yes, Grey Star would have a similar trick available. The Plotbunnies have an explanation for that.)
> 
> Likewise – yes, Grey Star has incredibly strong willpower, because that’s what he uses to cast spells. Which, by the by, dovetails with some scientific findings: that willpower is a _finite resource_ , similar to muscle power. Yes, it gets stronger with use – Grey Star’s the equivalent of an Olympic athlete. But like any athlete, _he can overdo it_.
> 
> …which means, as an aside, that he likely also has a very good sense for how and when and how much to _indulge_ himself, to rest his will a bit. Like, oh, snarking at his elders. Or bragging just a little bit to impress a pretty girl, when he has nothing to lose.  
>  Yep. Grey Star’s in the unique position of having a sane, _responsible_ reason to… well, act his age on occasion!
> 
> Regarding the Drakkirim: yes, narrative states that they’re wild and evil barbarians sworn to the Darklords’ service. But the idea of the wild barbarian seems to draw on the historical Mongolian invasions (that, or the Visigoths sacking Rome, but historically that was more a migration than a military invasion)… and one of the things that made the Mongolians so utterly terrifying was the fact that they were _disciplined_.
> 
> And while I made up the idea that Sado and Samu taught Grey Star a few self-defense moves… Well. If the key to the morale of my rebel force were a squishy young wizard, I’d darned well want to make sure said wizard knew a few good dirty tricks!
> 
> (As for his athleticism, Grey Star offers this comment: “You’d be agile too, after running across a jungle panting in the wake of a bouncy old monkey-man…”)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for a moderately graphic description of the sort of wounds caused by medieval weapons. Hint: they’re _not_ pretty.

Once, Lone Wolf had unexpectedly come face-to-face with a Yas – a deadly constrictor renowned for its hypnotic power. His mental shields had saved him from entrapment and death – but he still remembered that first shock of seeing, the world falling away, every sense screaming danger but none of the alarms seeming to _register_ in his mind…

This was the same. On some level, he _knew_ that with every word, the Darklord was walking closer, relaxed and easy. He _knew_ that he faced his enemy, that now was the time to move, to strike, to fight for his life…

But the words simply wrapped around him in layer upon layer of darkness, and it was all he could do to simply hold them at bay.

Then, between one breath and the next, silver-edged scarlet light blazed up in his mind, a barrier between him and the worst of that lulling darkness, and Lone Wolf staggered suddenly as he found his body once more his to command. He blinked, the world beyond those inhuman eyes coming into focus again, and glimpsed Grey Star, eyes closed as the wizard’s hand clenched tightly around something hanging on a simple leather thong around his neck as furious scarlet light blazed between his fingers.

Then the Dark Lord made a back-handed, dismissive gesture – and Grey Star was thrown to the side, the red light winking out as the wizard slammed against stone.

“Stand aside, changeling child,” the Darklord said calmly as Grey Star fell limp to the floor at the base of the wall. “My plans for you are otherwise.”

But in that one, brief moment, his attention was turned from Lone Wolf. Gritting his teeth, the Kai Lord lunged.

Clear, golden light flooded through his mind as his hands closed on the hilt of the Sommerswerd, burning away the clinging shadows of the Darklord’s will. Feeling as though a great weight had suddenly dropped from his limbs, Lone Wolf whirled about, bringing the Sommerswerd up to a ready position to face his enemy.

Ebon eyes narrowed slightly against the blazing light of the blade. And yet, the Darklord simply shook his head, seemingly untroubled. “And now what, young stray? Would you call on the power of the blade to sear me from existence, as you once did Zagarna? Ah – but you have not that power now, do you? Not in this place.” With a small smile, a hand gestured to the windowless stone walls – and beyond them, to the sunless sky of this dying fragment of a world.

And then the wrist turned gracefully, so that the Darklord gestured to himself. “Even if you had access to such power, it would do little to harm me. Not as I stand now, clothed in mortal flesh.”

“It is still enough to destroy you,” Lone Wolf said flatly, through gritted teeth, and prayed that he spoke with more than just bravado. He could still feel the darkness coiling tighter around him with the words, held at bay only by the light of the Sommerswerd and his own mental shields, ragged and torn after the earlier assault during his captivity and still wavering dangerously after the hypnotic fog of only a few moments before. Nearby, he could hear Grey Star coughing as stunned lungs struggled to breathe after the harsh impact, telling him that his ally was alive and conscious, at least.

“Hm. I wonder. Shall we test that?” The Darklord’s hand rose, fingers curling as though to grip something invisible – and Lone Wolf lunged, Sommerswerd arcing up and around in a bright butterfly sweep.

The tower room rang with the cry of steel on steel, as the Darklord’s hand closed on the very sword that Lone Wolf had taken from the guard at the door, and the blades locked at the hilts.

A powerful shove forced Lone Wolf to stumble back, off-balance from the unexpected parry. Rather than sacrifice his defenses to regain his balance, Lone Wolf yielded to the force of the push and dropped, striking the ground with his shoulder and rolling with the force of the fall so that it brought him back to his feet in a ready stance.

But the Darklord did not follow up with an attack of his own. Instead, blade held at the ready, he extended his empty hand and beckoned with his fingers, as though inviting Lone Wolf to spar.

“I face you in mortal flesh, with mortal steel,” he said, a dark, victorious smile crossing that eerily childlike face. “Do not expect the magic of the Sommerswerd to aid you in this battle, young stray!”

Under any other circumstance, Lone Wolf would have no need for concern. He had studied the ways of the sword from his earliest days in the Monastery, from the moment the training master had first called for the young novices to set their hands to the weapon of their choice. And all magic aside, the Sommerswerd was a blade without peer, perfectly balanced and resting in his hand as though forged for him. Armed with such a blade, he felt he could challenge any foe.

And yet.

The Darklord wielded the simple sword he had taken up with the skill of a master swordsman, parrying or evading each of Lone Wolf’s blows and striking back with blurring speed, each of them pressing forward and giving ground, seeking the offensive and losing it. In the back of his mind, Lone Wolf was aware of Grey Star pushing himself to his feet, trying to make his way around the edge of the room to the place where his staff leaned against the wall – only to scramble back, fighting to stay out from underfoot as the battle surged back and forth across the tower room.

Even with a Kai Lord’s enhanced endurance, Lone Wolf felt his breathing growing ragged, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and trickle down his face. In all his travels, he’d never met an opponent like this. The Darklord matched him blow for blow and counter for counter, forcing him to reach deep inside and summon forth every iota of speed and strength and skill he had ever gained, and all that held despair back was the way the Darklord’s smile had vanished for a look of fierce concentration that Lone Wolf knew was an unsettling mirror of the expression on his own face. They were locked together, absolute equals. Even if Grey Star could reach his staff, there was no way he could intervene without risking hitting the wrong person. The battle hinged on which of them would make the first mistake-

Then, as blade clashed on blade, Lone Wolf saw it.

With his next parry, he lunged in close, bringing the hilts of their weapons together in a lock. But rather than pit strength against strength, he _twisted_ , tangling the Darklord’s borrowed blade with the Sommerswerd-

And turned, wrenching the blade from the Darklord’s hand.

With a cry of triumph, he continued to turn, spinning with the momentum of the disarm as the blade flew through the air to clatter against the wall, and came about, bringing the Sommerswerd in a burning circle to slash down on his foe and end the battle-

For less than a breath, as his eyes met those of his foe, he saw dark victory smiling back at him.

Then the eyes he looked upon were no longer black-on-black-on-black, but terrified hazel-green, and he _could not stop the blow in time_.

The horrible, visceral feeling of his blade biting through unarmored flesh. Stark crimson blood flying up to stain his face. And a scream.

And a young wizard fell to the ground, grey robe rent and swiftly staining red from the horrible gash across his back, Sommerlund’s prince safely shielded beneath his body.

“Grey Star!”

The Sommerswerd clattered onto the wooden floor, and under any other circumstances Lone Wolf would have been ashamed to handle _any_ weapon so carelessly. But his mind was already dropping into a healing trance as he fell to his knees beside his companion, reaching for the powers that would take torn flesh and muscle and shattered bone and will them _whole_.

“He kept saying… that the Sommerswerd wouldn’t harm him,” Grey Star gritted, breathless with pain, shock bleaching his normal dusky coloring sallow. “Because he was _clothed in mortal flesh_. Bothered me, but… didn’t understand why… until he lost the blade…”

“Be quiet,” Lone Wolf said shortly, voice harsh in his ears, barely even hearing what the wizard was saying. By luck or reflex or desperate design, Grey Star had taken the blow diagonally across his back, strong muscles and sturdy bone keeping the blade from biting into any vital organs. But the bone of his shoulder blade, which had taken the force of first impact, was at least cracked, and Lone Wolf could _see_ flashes of white in the depths of the wound as it crossed ribs and spine. And blood was pouring out at an alarming rate, adding to the old stains on the ancient floor.

_Start there._

Reach for countless delicate blood vessels, torn brutally apart or crushed into blooming bruises by the weight and momentum of the sword. Catch and _hold_ , willing the blood to thicken, to clot and block any further loss. Already, the natural defenses of Grey Star’s own body had rallied to aid him; fragile as life could be, the human body was amazingly resilient, able to recover from deathly danger, if it just had enough strength. His task was to give it that strength, to muster the natural healing of the body and amplify it, slowing the bleeding as he burned out any hints of infection that might otherwise flare up into life-threatening illness, allowing the blood to seal the wound to prevent further bleeding or infection, coaxing the deepest layers of muscle together-

And there, he had no choice but to stop, acutely aware that he could afford neither the time nor the energy to heal any more, not when they still had to escape, and possibly fight. But at least the worst of the danger had passed; the bleeding had stopped, and he had at least sealed the wound enough to allow Grey Star to move, if slowly. The rest could be tended by simpler means for now, until they had found somewhere safe enough for him to risk a full healing trance.

Casting about for something he could render into bandages, Lone Wolf’s eye fell upon the Sommerswerd.

He froze.

Crimson gleamed wetly along the edge of the blade, mute reminder of what had happened. And wherever blood touched steel – the golden light of the Sommerswerd failed, and hair-thin cracks ran along the blade, as though it were made of fragile glass, and not steel at all. Even as he watched, the white-hot light burning at the edge of that darkened region flared painfully bright – and failed, retreating back, as new cracks appeared with a high, splintering sound.

Stunned, Lone Wolf reflexively reached out to touch the hilt-

As his fingers touched it, the entire Sommerswerd, hilt and all, _shattered_.

For a long moment, he could do nothing save stare, unable to even wrap his mind around what had happened. The Sommerswerd was the symbol of Sommerlund, and the Kai Lords, and Kai himself; the great weapon forged for battle against the darkness, that would suffer no creature of darkness to touch it, nor its powers to be wielded by any save a Kai Lord…

_And what Kai Lord would shed an innocent’s blood?_

Suddenly, the full design of the Darklord’s plan fell into place, and Lone Wolf found himself shaking his head – but not in negation.

“We were right all along,” he whispered. His voice sounded strange and distant in his ears, his lips numb and clumsy around the words. “From the beginning, this was all a trap. And yet I did not _see_ – the Sommerswerd was not the bait for the trap. The sword itself _was_ the trap.”

Leave them to make their way through empty halls to find the sword, allowing silence and stillness to set every nerve on edge. Strike, first with voice and then with blade, confusing him, pushing him to the very limits, so that he relied on speed and reflex. And then… release the possession, and leave the Darklord’s hostage victim to take the final blow alone.

Grey Star’s quick thinking had saved the prince, at least – but though he himself was a warrior against the dark, the wizard was still an ally. An _innocent_ , to the magic of the blade.

“There is still hope.”

Lone Wolf started, turning quickly back as Grey Star began to push himself up, only to blanch in sudden pain.

“Be careful,” Lone Wolf said quickly, reaching out to help the wizard sit upright. “Your wounds are only closed, not healed. By rights, you should not be moving…”

Grey Star shook his head, breath catching as Lone Wolf quickly wrapped torn strips of the wizard’s ruined cloak around his torso. A sorry effort at bandaging, but they had not the time or supplies to make a better job of it. “But we do not have time,” the wizard said grimly. “I imagine his servants will not be far behind us.”

“Now that he has achieved his aim? Yes,” Lone Wolf agreed, closing his eyes in pain. He’d been such a _fool_ not to see it.

“He did _not_ ,” Grey Star said fiercely. “I told you. There is still hope.”

Startled, Lone Wolf looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I chose to step into the path of the blade. _Willingly_ ,” Grey Star said. “That has a power of its own. The blade was broken, yes. But it was not destroyed! _And that which has been broken can be mended._ ”

Hope _hurt_ , after so much had gone so painfully wrong. It felt not unlike walking away from the shattered Kai Monastery, leaving his teachers and friends to lie unburied where they had fallen so that he might reach the king and warn him of what had happened.

But he had done it then, though it had felt like tearing his heart apart to do so. And now, following the wizard’s directions, he gathered up the shards of the Sommerswerd, wrapping them in a spare shirt from the wizard’s pack and stowing them carefully away. Only then did he help Grey Star rise to his feet.

Once standing, the wizard started to take a step, and then swayed dangerously, nearly falling before Lone Wolf steadied him. “My staff-”

The weapon still leaned against the wall, just a few steps away. Lone Wolf quickly retrieved it – and blinked, _looking_ at it for the first time. Though his experience with wizards was somewhat limited, it looked like no wizard’s staff he’d ever seen, either among the Brotherhood of the Crystal Star or the Order of Magi. Indeed, the simple pole of dark wood didn’t look like a wizard’s staff at all; he could see nothing that would distinguish it from thousands of quarterstaves exactly like it in training yards across Sommerlund.

And yet there was no denying the look of utter relief that crossed Grey Star’s face as he took that plain oaken staff in hand, as though a missing part of himself had been returned. For a moment, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the wood in a way that had nothing to do with the way he leaned on it for support.

After a moment, however, he drew himself up, straightening with a poorly-concealed wince as the wound in his back protested. “We still must find the portal,” he said. “I do not think it can be far from this place…”

“I know the way.”

Startled, Lone Wolf turned, chastising himself for forgetting they were no longer alone.

Back pressed against the wall, Prince Hamil bit his lip, looking pale and startlingly young – no more than eleven, and Lone Wolf suddenly recalled that the boy had been born nearly six months after the opening battles of Zagarna’s attack on Sommerlund, when Prince Pelathar had fallen to an enemy arrow. Prince Hamil had never met his father.

And yet, Lone Wolf could see the same noble spirit that he’d seen in the dying prince, when the boy raised his chin and stepped forward, pale and terrified and fiercely determined.

“The portal that the demon used is above us, at the top of the tower,” he said, pointing to a second door on the far side of the room. “The stairs are this way.”

Nodding grimly, Lone Wolf slung Grey Star’s pack over his shoulder; the wizard could no longer carry it, injured as he was. More than that, the pack now carried the shards of the Sommerswerd, and Lone Wolf was loathe to part with it, even to an ally.

The howling wind struck with brutal force as they emerged through a hatch onto the open platform at the very top of the tower, nearly tearing the green cloak from Lone Wolf’s shoulders as he staggered, caught off guard by the gale. Here, nothing stood in the way of the wind, and the empty void that had consumed this world’s sky seemed to loom far too close over their heads.

Tearing his eyes from the emptiness with a shudder, Lone Wolf found himself looking at another scene that he found no more comforting: the wide plain upon which the Darklord had staged his army. From here, he could see that their first sight of it from the windows of the keep had in fact not revealed the full extent of the Darklord’s army; at least two more divisions were encamped beyond a turn in the shattered landscape, away from the broken rim of the world.

Lone Wolf found himself glancing towards that cut-away wing of the keep, and shuddered. From this vantage, he could make out the overall curve of that line, and it sent a chill through his spine. This truly was nothing more than a fragment, a lone mountain and its surrounding landscape adrift in the emptiness between worlds.

“Lone Wolf!”

In the raging wind, he could barely hear the wizard’s shout. Turning, he found that Grey Star had sunk to one knee in the center of a complex sigil engraved into the very slates that formed the tower’s roof. Something glittered at the heart of the symbol, and as he watched, Grey Star gingerly pulled it free, wincing as the motion aggravated his wound.

Leaving Prince Hamil sheltered from the wind against one of the merlons forming the wall of the platform, Lone Wolf pulled his cloak close so that the wind would not throw him off balance again and moved to stand at the wizard’s shoulder to look at the object. It was a pendant of some kind, he saw; a simple crystal circle dangling upon a chain.

“What is it?” he asked, almost shouting just to hear himself over the wind.

Grey Star shook his head. “I do not know,” he answered. “But it appears to be a key of some kind.” He made as if to pass it up to Lone Wolf, only to stop short with a wince of pain.

Reaching down, Lone Wolf took the pendant, and then helped pull the wizard back to his feet. “What of the portal? Have you the strength to open a path home?” he asked in concern.

Grey Star closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and nodded. “I do not know where we will arrive,” he admitted. “But I can at least see to it that we will arrive near help of some form-”

The sudden crash of the hatch opening brought both of them turning about. A Drakkarim soldier smirked as he started to lever himself out onto the platform – and then suddenly was smashed back down into the interior of the tower as Prince Hamil cast himself atop the hatch, using his unexpected weight to force it back down.

Lone Wolf raced across the platform, adding his own weight to the door as he looked quickly for something to hold it down. Finding the latch, he quickly shoved it into place. But it was only one, and it would not hold for long-

“Both of you, into the circle,” Grey Star commanded, voice ringing clear through the wind. “Whatever happens, do not leave it!”

Lone Wolf pulled the prince close as he stepped onto the sigil, wrapping his cloak around both of them both for warmth and to keep it from tearing loose, as Grey Star set himself in the center of the circle, feet planted wide for support and hands similarly positioned wide in an overhand grip on his staff, held low and level in front of him. Then the wizard closed his eyes, and let his head drop forward.

Seconds passed. Behind them, Lone Wolf could hear the latch screaming protest as enemies hammered on the hatch from below. Thinning his lips, Lone Wolf tightened his grip on his stolen sword and prepared to fight.

And then stilled.

Grey Star did not move. He chanted no spell. And yet Lone Wolf could feel the power gathering around them, flaring up from the sigil and the stones of the tower and the world itself, reaching down in misty tendrils from the great void above – and most of all, blazing starfire from the core of the wizard himself.

With the _spang_ of overstressed metal, the latch tore loose; the hatch slammed open behind them, and Lone Wolf started to turn to face the soldiers, hoping to buy them even just a few seconds’ time-

And suddenly Grey Star moved, thrusting his level staff up and over his head in one fierce push and a grimace of effort and pain. And as though the world around them were nothing more than mere curtain stage-settings, their surroundings furled upwards, and suddenly the three of them stood upon a glowing sigil in the space between the worlds.

Clouds of stars whirled past them, wheeling about like a great flock of starlings flying south on the very wings of the first bitter blast of winter wind. Out of the darkness they left in their wake, lambent blue-violet mist reached out curious fingers to stroke the edges of the sigil, as flashes of golden and white comets danced and collided in the emptiness, scattering sparks and plumes of flame. One flickered past, a little whorl of flame that could burn away a mountain in the blink of an eye, and vanished, leaving darkness and turning stars and mist.

And they were not alone.

In a circle at the very edge of the shining sigil appeared twelve figures, tall and graceful, standing hand in hand, each radiating a silvery light that limned the edges of soft, hooded grey robes, and Lone Wolf could feel Prince Hamil clutching at his tunic as the boy turned away, burying his face against the Kai Lord’s side. He wrapped his cloak closer around the young prince, but did not look away himself. He felt no threat from these figures. On the contrary, each radiated a sense of _rightness_ – and determination.

At some unheard signal, each hooded head rose. And for the life of him, Lone Wolf could not say what features he saw, or even if he saw any at all. All that registered upon his awareness were the mirrored eyes, each reflecting the light blazing from the young wizard who still stood unmoving in the center of their circle.

Grey Star did not look at them. His eyes remained closed, and the expression of fierce concentration never changed. But Lone Wolf thought he saw the young man’s lips move, forming silent words.

They might have been, _Thank you_.

Then Grey Star suddenly snapped his staff back down with a gasp, and reality came down around them, blocking out the worlds and stars and shining figures, and the three of them stood on a bare hilltop, overlooking a rocky plain of reddish-yellow earth and stones with covered with green-blue sagebrush that filled the air with its sharp scent. Mountains stood near at hand, marching away toward the northern horizon, their peaks sharp-edged and bright in the dry air, disturbed only by hints of dust swirling in a light, warm breeze.

And overhead, warm sunlight poured down from a blazing blue sky.

Lone Wolf’s mouth dropped open as Prince Hamil tentatively let go to stare about them with wide, shocked eyes, and the taste of sand and sage on his tongue was as familiar as memory. These – these were the great plains of Valerion, south of Sommerlund.

Far from home yet. But after that shattered ghost of a world, the sight was as welcome as a fire in his own hearth…

Wood clattered on stone as Grey Star’s staff dropped from slack hands. Eyes still closed, the wizard swayed dangerously on his feet.

Quick reflexes let Lone Wolf catch him before the younger man hit the ground. Lowering him, Lone Wolf’s lips thinned. Already sallow from shock and blood loss, Grey Star’s face was even paler now. And Lone Wolf could feel the wetness where the barely-closed wound had reopened on Grey Star’s back, blood soaking through makeshift bandages and torn robe.

Cursing to himself, Lone Wolf turned the wizard so as not to aggravate the wound further, and stood to search their surroundings again, with more purpose this time. Grey Star had said the portal would take them somewhere near help, and they needed that help now, both to tend the wizard’s wounds and to gather supplies; this vast plain was no place for a stranger to forage, even a Kai Master who knew the art of hunting. But what few people lived in such places tended to look with disfavor upon unexpected strangers – and he could see no signs of habitation…

A flicker of motion drew his eyes upward.

The shadow of a ship approached, dark against the endless blue sea of the sky; a small craft, no bigger than a river barge, two curving sails sweeping back from its gracefully curved brow as they billowed in the wind, laughing at gravity and the earth below.

A familiar ship, familiar as the blue pennant with its golden crescent-and-star design.

Jaw dropping open, Lone Wolf could not help but laugh.

“Help indeed,” he breathed, and pulled off his green Kai cloak, bright in the sunlight against the dun-and-sage of the landscape, raising it high to flag the _Skyrider_ down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I broke the Sommerswerd.
> 
> Honestly, that particular plot twist has been stuck in my head ever since I re-read _Fire on the Water_ and got to this line: “This weapon was forged long before the Sommlending, the Durenese, or the Darklords dwelt in the Lastlands. Its makers were of a race that men would now call gods. To release the power that it contains, only a Kai Lord may wield it. Should it be used in combat by anyone who is not a Kai Lord, its power will fade and be lost forever.”
> 
> Me: “…holy bleep. The Darklords have any number of human followers. If they ever got the Sommerswerd away from Lone Wolf – and it _does_ happen several times throughout the course of the story – it would be _so easy_ for them to just hand it to one of those followers and send them out to take a few swings…” And yet, to my knowledge it never comes up again, when by all rights Lone Wolf should be in a _cold sweat_ any of the numerous times his enemies manage to take his items from him! Seriously. If you’re going to give your Infinity+1 Sword a Kryptonite, by all rights that Kryptonite should come into play!
> 
> Frankly, that was a little _too_ easy, so I went with something a bit more complex and hard to manage – using the sword to spill the blood of an innocent, a classic Bane for weapons of Goodly alignment. But the inspiration was there. Besides, even if the Sommerswerd _could_ be destroyed so easily, what force of evil could turn down a chance to mess with Lone Wolf’s head like that?
> 
> (And, that line about “makers were of a race that men would now call gods”? Yeah. Let’s just say that the bunnies drew a line from A to B and are now running with it.)
> 
> As an aside: oh yes, swords can break bones. Although I admit that Grey Star’s injury is partly inspired by the professor who taught my Human Osteology class, and loved to regale us with stories about how breaking this or that bone could _mess you up_ …


	5. Chapter 5

“I,” Banedon announced with relish, spreading his arms wide to the sun as the loose hem of his robe flapped dramatically in the wind filling the _Skyrider_ ’s sails, “have achieved enlightenment. I stand at the pinnacle of fulfillment. The gods have revealed to me the purpose for which I was placed upon this world.”

“Oh?” Lone Wolf asked, amused despite himself as he glanced over his shoulder, taking his eyes from the landscape far below to give the theurgist his full attention.

“Yes.” Banedon swept an arm around dramatically to point a finger at Lone Wolf. “To pluck _you_ from the jaws of danger, in the most improbable manner possible.”

Lone Wolf snorted – but he vividly remembered the dark laughter of Kraan-riders in his ears as his dying Itikar bled out beneath him, knowing that he would not survive the fall and hoping only that he could get far enough that his body would be lost in the lake… and then looking up as a ship sailed out of a cloudbank and wondering if desperation and despair had turned his mind to _madness_ , for there was no logic in the universe that could possibly explain such a rescue.

However. “I distinctly recall that it was not I plucked from death at the hands of a Giak ambush in the ruins of Raumas, when first we met.”

The mage waved a hand dismissively. “A mere device of the gods,” he said loftily, “weighing the fates with the creation of a life-debt on your behalf.” His eyes sobered as he lowered his hand. “I am inclined to thank them. If that be my purpose, I would not consider it a poor one.”

Lone Wolf could not stop the wince as the absence of weight at his side where the Sommerswerd normally rested stabbed at him like a dagger. Pained, he looked away.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Banedon studying him thoughtfully. Before the mage could say anything, however, the sound of the door of the captain’s cabin opening drew their attention.

“How is he?” Lone Wolf asked, as a familiar dwarf stepped out and onto the deck, closing his red velvet satchel.

The _Skyrider_ medic nodded briefly. “The wound on his back is healing well, and cleanly. You did good work, Kai Lord. His other wounds are minor for the most part, and seem to have been treated, though not with any great skill.” He sniffed.

Lone Wolf hadn’t noticed that Grey Star had suffered other injuries – but in hindsight, he found he was not surprised. Grey Star had said he’d been taken by ambush, rather than drugs and betrayal as Lone Wolf had. Knowing the wizard as he now did, Lone Wolf suspected that Grey Star had made his capture a costly one, indeed.

“The rest is simple exhaustion. I would say that he over-extended his energy, physical and magical. I would not expect him to wake for a day or two, and wake ravenous, but there should be no lingering effects.” The dwarf eyed his captain pointedly. “After all, I have some _experience_ with treating wizards at this point.” Shaking his head when Banedon merely chuckled, the medic then looked back at Lone Wolf. “See for yourself. You will not wake him; I doubt anything short of the _Skyrider_ falling out of the sky would.”

“Thank you,” Lone Wolf said.

The young wizard’s color had definitely improved since those uneasy minutes as they waited for the _Skyrider_ to come about and descend from the sky to meet them, and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully in Banedon’s borrowed bed – the rest of the crew slept in hammocks, for the sake of space, leaving only the captain’s own quarters as suitable space for an injured man. Although, with the fierce glitter of focus and concentration hidden behind closed lashes, Grey Star looked unsettlingly young. It made Lone Wolf remember the many older soldiers he’d encountered during his harrowing flight to the capital to carry the message of the massacre at the Kai Monastery, and wonder if they’d thought the same of him, twelve years ago.

Still, having verified with his own eyes that his ally was indeed well and recovering, Lone Wolf felt he could breathe a little easier. With Prince Hamil also in his care, he’d reluctantly left the wizard in the experienced hands of Banedon’s crew. It was not that he did not trust the dwarves; he’d seen for himself that their rough manner hid a conscientious concern for the frailer humans with whom they shared their adventures, particularly their gambling captain.

Although that concern did not extend itself to dwarven _ale_ , and Lone Wolf made a mental note to warn Grey Star before they offered the younger man any of the… _bracing_ … concoction known as Bor-brew. He’d seen wizards with hangovers. It was not a pleasant sight.

Still. Lone Wolf had been forced by circumstance to leave too many allies to die to ever be at ease leaving a wounded friend to the care of others, no matter how skilled that care might be.

Particularly when the worst of Grey Star’s wounds had been dealt by his own hands.

“What happened?” Banedon asked quietly, leaning on the lintel of the door to his own commandeered quarters. All trace of merriment had faded from his face, leaving behind the sharp gaze of the theurgist who’d proven himself nearly as much a thorn in the side of evil as Lone Wolf himself, and now Lone Wolf noted that Banedon’s dark blue robes carried the silver trim of a fully recognized Magemaster, rather than the plain Journeymaster’s blue he’d worn when last they’d met, some four years ago. “We were setting out from Bor when the _Skyrider_ ’s instruments went mad for a moment. And when we came to investigate, we found _you_. What were you even doing there? When last I heard, you were studying with the Magi of Dessi, and making ready for some great quest.”

Lone Wolf blinked, momentarily taken aback before he recalled that Banedon was a well-known and welcome guest of the Magi himself. Indeed, he had earned this very ship as a reward from the Magi, when his innovative magics had proved crucial in defeating the monstrous Gagadoth.

Drawing a deep breath to brace himself, Lone Wolf nodded. “I was,” he said. “But then the Magi received a message from King Ulnar; Prince Hamil had gone missing, and he suspected the hand of a Darklord at work.”

Banedon’s breath caught. “I thought the Darklords of Helgedad still warred among themselves for the right to ascend to Haakar’s throne.”

“They do,” Lone Wolf said grimly. “And yet, King Ulnar’s suspicion was not wrong.”

Quietly, he began to recount what had happened, beginning with his journey to Lord Errich’s keep, and the treachery that awaited him there. This was not the time for a full retelling of what had happened; he focused instead on the primary events. Grey Star’s unexpected rescue, their search through the keep…

Grave-faced, Banedon listened without interrupting, though he blanched as Lone Wolf recounted the army they had seen on that cold plain and his estimate of their numbers. But that was nothing to the stricken look that crossed his face as Lone Wolf finally, painfully, recounted what had taken place in the heights of the tower. But although the mage’s face went stark white at his words, still Banedon said nothing, as Lone Wolf explained their final escape, and how they had come to that empty plain as the _Skyrider_ passed overhead.

When the tale was finally done, Banedon released a shaking breath. “Well. That explains the reaction of my instruments, at least,” he said, something in the cadence of his voice suggesting that he felt as numb as Lone Wolf had in that first, nightmarish moment of comprehension. “To part the veil between the worlds… even with a full circle’s backing, I am not certain I would have dared such a feat. Particularly with only a Darklord’s magic circle to aid me.”

“We had little choice but to try,” Lone Wolf said.

“Even so. I look forward to meeting your young friend properly, when he wakes.” Banedon swallowed, hard, and raised his chin. “The Sommerswerd… is broken? Truly?"

Each of them had grown in skill and strength and years since that dark day when first they’d met, an apprentice theurgist and Initiate of Kai caught up in death and darkness and sudden war. But in Banedon’s voice, Lone Wolf could hear an echo of the horror and grief of that young mage who’d braved death and danger in a thousand forms in his quest to warn the Kai Lords of the Darklords’ plans – only to learn that he was far too late.

Lone Wolf found that he could not face his old friend and ally. He turned his face away, staring at the cabin wall without truly seeing it. “I was a fool,” he said, the taste of the words bitter in his mouth. “If I had but _thought_ – but I did not, and allowed myself to become so caught up in the battle that I forgot that the Darklord fought me in a body that was not his own. If Grey Star had not seen the danger in time, and taken the blow on the prince’s behalf…”

Then Sommerlund would have been dealt a double blow from which it might never have recovered. Triple, perhaps; with the blood of Ulnar’s heir, of a _child_ , on his hands, Lone Wolf might never have found the strength to return to Magnamund. Unless it was perhaps to cast himself at his king’s feet, and ask for the realm’s judgment.

Unexpectedly, hands grabbed his shoulders. Too startled to resist, Lone Wolf found himself hauled about to meet Banedon’s eyes, no longer brooding but piercing and determined.

“Do _not_ let yourself believe that, Lone Wolf,” the mage said fiercely. “I know this despair; I felt it, the day we met, when I realized my mission had failed and the Kai Lords lay massacred! It took me years, and the counsel of my elders, ere I finally understood that I could not shoulder all the blame on my own. Yes, my mission failed – yet the odds were against me from the beginning, and if what you told me that day is true, it is possible that I was too late before I ever set out!” He shook Lone Wolf slightly, and somewhere in the back of his mind Lone Wolf noted that the scene might be comical, were their conversation otherwise – the powerful Kai Lord, being shaken like a child by a lanky magician. “Nor should you blame yourself for this.”

Breathing deeply, Banedon at last let go, but he still held Lone Wolf’s eyes with his own. “Think,” he urged. “You could hardly have left the Sommerswerd in the Darklord’s hands. Even had you been so foolish as to try, that room lay between you and the only means you had to escape that place. This Darklord is far cleverer than most of their ilk, that much is plain, and he is that much more the deadly for it. He clearly planned your encounter carefully. _He meant to win either way_. Had you _not_ prevailed, he would have slain you then and there, and the Sommerswerd and Prince Hamil would still have been lost to us, likely for eternity!” Banedon shivered slightly, and Lone Wolf saw his hand twitch, as though he meant to make a warding gesture against evil like a common peasant. “By your actions, you ensured that at the least Sommerlund would not have lost the last of her Kai Lords. And thanks to your young friend here, Prince Hamil is also returned to us, safe and sound.” Banedon shook his head. “I do not deny that this is ill hearing indeed. But we have not lost all!”

Lone Wolf found his head dipping slightly in a reluctant nod. He could not fault Banedon’s logic, although his own heart was far from convinced.

But the mage’s words brought to mind those of another magic-worker. “Grey Star said that there may yet be hope that the Sommerswerd can be repaired.” Casting his mind back, he repeated what the wizard had told him, as best he could.

Banedon settled back on his heels, eyes narrowing with a thoughtful nod. “He may be right. Willing sacrifice – that is old magic, the oldest in the world, and there is nothing stronger.” He drew in a slow, deep breath. “And yet, to repair a blade that was crafted by no mortal hands… that will be no easy task. We should consult with the Magi. If any know the lore of the original crafters of the Sommerswerd, it would be they…” Shaking his head, he mustered a smile. “You see, my friend? Truly. In the end, you reached the best of possible outcomes, despite everything.”

Lone Wolf glanced away again. “Somehow, I doubt the king will agree with you.”

The mage made a frustrated noise. “Then you are a fool,” he said bluntly. “King Ulnar has lived a long life, and ever under the threat of the Darklords. He knows better than any that the throne comes at a great cost, for him and all his line. I do not think he will blame you for what almost happened.”

“Master Banedon is right, Kai Lord.”

Startled, Lone Wolf and Banedon both turned to the door, and Prince Hamil flinched, almost hiding behind the frame before visibly steeling himself to raise his chin and step forward.

“I never met my lord father,” he said, and Lone Wolf wondered if all children could sound so solemn at need. Somehow, he doubted it. “Although I’m told that you did. But I grew up knowing that he died for Sommerlund, and that my grandfather would have done the same.” He hesitated, swallowing. “The king is the servant of the land, and s-sometimes that requires being willing to sacrifice even your life,” he said, clearly reciting an old lesson – although the last words came out in a tumbling rush, as though he were desperately trying to get them out before he lost his nerve.

Then he paused, as though trying to catch his breath. “I’m very grateful that it didn’t this time, though,” he added, in a very small voice.

Startled, Lone Wolf found himself re-evaluating the boy. How much courage must it have taken to say those words? Particularly when he was quite certain that the sight of the Sommerswerd bearing down on him would remain with Prince Hamil until his dying day.

Deeply moved, he raised his fist to his chest and bowed deeply.

“What brings you here, my prince?” he asked as he straightened again.

Hazel eyes flickered away. “I couldn’t sleep,” Hamil replied unconvincingly. Doubly unconvincing, given the dark circles under his eyes and the way he blinked, obviously fighting to stay awake – but Lone Wolf would not call him out on the lie. He had searched the boy’s mind as thoroughly as he knew how once the dwarven medic had taken Grey Star in hand, all too aware of the damage – or worse, lingering traps – that the Darklord might have left behind in the prince’s mind and body. He’d found nothing; surprising, until he remembered the Darklord’s ultimate plan for Prince Hamil. Like as not, the Darklord had forgone the temptation to warp the boy, for fear that it would render him no longer innocent enough to shatter the blade.

Even so, Lone Wolf could not blame the prince for fearing the darkness behind his eyes. That moment before the Sommerswerd fell was far from the only nightmare the boy would take from this experience.

“And… I wanted to know…” Biting his lip, Hamil craned his neck to look at the wizard lying unconscious in the bed. “Will he be alright?” he asked tentatively.

Banedon glanced at Grey Star and blinked, a rueful look crossing his face. “I believe he will,” he said. “Ardim is honest; he would have told us if there were any cause to worry for his patient. But it would be better if we left him to rest peacefully.” He turned back to look at Lone Wolf and the prince. “As should the two of you. Rest while you can. I doubt that we have seen the end of this matter yet; you will need your strength.” Frowning at Hamil when the boy looked as though he meant to protest, Banedon added pointedly, “You as well, my prince. I have a draught that should quiet your dreams for a time, but you _must_ sleep. I would rather not have the King accuse me of foisting a changeling on him.”

Opening his mouth to ask if Banedon would be willing to gift such a draught to him as well, Lone Wolf stopped short in the doorway.

“ _Stand aside, changeling child. My plans for you are otherwise._ ”

Troubled, he glanced back at the sleeping wizard. The Darklord’s plans for Lone Wolf, Prince Hamil, and the Sommerswerd were now all too clear…

_But what of Grey Star?_

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

_Magic whirled around him, a dizzying array of interwoven colors of melodies built upon each other in layer after layer of sound and light and texture. It made him almost_ ache _for the clear sweeping tones he’d known as a small child, watching wide-eyed as his family wove shining veils of power simply for the pure joy of creating something bright and beautiful, coaxing him into adding his own first, fragile wisps of song and light to the dance._

_But although the whirling coloratura nearly overwhelmed him, there was a grace of its own to the wild intermixing of patterns, and he could begin to get a sense of how the different pieces each worked within themselves and between each other. It was beautiful, in its own flamboyant way._

_But something was wrong._

_A shadow was seeping through the music, a thread of discord winding through the colors. It didn’t belong, and it meant only ill…_

Grey Star started awake – and bitterly regretted it as his reflexive move to sit up set his back afire. It was nothing compared to the white-hot pain that had throbbed with every heartbeat and whited out everything of his surroundings save the pin-narrow focus of trying to stay conscious long enough to get them all free of that place – but it was more than enough to startle a gasp from him as he dropped back down to lie face-down on… a bed of some kind?

As he lay there, fighting to catch his breath and struggling to make sense of his surroundings, he heard someone huff irritably and cross a wooden floor to approach him.

“Careless young… mind that back, lad, or I’ll be having _words_ with you.” Callused hands helped him sit up and pressed a mug into his hands.

The mug proved to be filled with Larkspur tea, and Grey Star drank as quickly as he could without either drowning himself or splashing it everywhere, suddenly achingly aware of how _thirsty_ he was. Although he made himself pause every swallow or two, to breathe and make certain that it would settle. He’d learned his lessons about drinking or eating too fast after a long lack.

His companion grunted in satisfaction. “Good. Easy is best, lad. No point in making yourself sick.”

Powerful hands took the oddly heavy-bottomed mug back – and Grey Star gave a start as he properly looked on his companion for the first time. The man wasn’t sitting by the bedside at all – his head would likely reach no higher than Grey Star’s ribcage, and he was not particularly tall. But the man was at least twice as broad in the shoulders as Grey Star, and heavy-built, the lines of corded muscle showing through his shirt.

Looking into the dwarf’s craggy face, Grey Star blinked in wonder. He had heard of the dwarves of Bor – but of the ancient Drodarin peoples, only the Lost Tribe of Lara, the Kundi, still lived anywhere near the lands of the former Shadaki Empire. The rest had been wiped out in one pogrom or another under Shasarak’s rule. He’d never thought to meet any others.

Like the Kundi, the dwarf’s manner was brusque, but not harsh. Scowling, he leaned forward to study Grey Star’s face, even catching the wizard’s chin in his hand to turn his head back and forth. Finally, he nodded shortly, still scowling almost absentmindedly, and let go.

“Good enough,” he said, although his lips were pursed in dissatisfaction, as though he’d been hoping to find some excuse to order Grey Star back to bed, and held up a sling. “Let’s get this on you, and _then_ – assuming you can eat something – we’ll see about letting you out on deck for a bit.”

Grey Star sighed, but nodded; he knew better than to argue with a healer.

Despite his short words and rough appearance, the dwarf’s fingers were gentle and dexterous as he settled the sling around Grey Star’s neck, using the wizard’s neck and right shoulder to support it without putting pressure on the injured shoulder or the wound in his back – although Grey Star noted that the pain of that wound was greatly muted now, and suspected that if he could see it, the wound would be mostly closed and well on its way to mending. Which suggested magical or Kai healing had been at work; there were limits to what herbs and the body alone could do to speed recovery. Even so, he winced slightly as the dwarf eased his left arm into the sling, struggling to keep himself relaxed rather than tensing and making the pain worse.

By the time they finished, another dwarf had slipped in and out, leaving a bowl of food sitting on the table. Grey Star had actually been rethinking the whole idea of getting up by then, but the scent of salty broth and meat woke his appetite with a vengeance. It proved to be a heavy stew – more like the thick curries he’d learned to enjoy in Shadaki than the simple fish and greens he’d grown up eating, although a piece of round loaf had been placed next to the bowl, instead of rice or flatbread. It also lacked the heavy mix of spices he associated with Shadaki cooking. But as hungry as he felt, he likely would have considered plain broth a feast, and it was a struggle not to bolt it all down in a few bites.

To force himself to slow, he studied the room. Going by what the dwarf had said about going out _on deck_ , this had to be some kind of ship. His surroundings supported that; the room was small, with barely enough room to move about between the small bed and equally small table that apparently doubled as a writing desk, judging by the latch that would tilt a section of the surface to a comfortable angle when engaged. The bed, table and chair were all of heavy, solid construction, and bed and table were both bolted to the floor, with a sea chest filling the space beneath the bed. The tableware was bottom-heavy as well, and looked as durable as the tavern bowls and mugs that were designed to survive an ale-lubricated bar brawl. And nearly as battered.

All of which matched with what he would expect from a ship that expected to weather storms and rough waters. But oddly, there was very little sense of motion – a hint of sway that he’d first thought was his own lingering weariness and weakness, perhaps, but none of the rocking he’d expect of waves. Which was odd. He’d never spent much time in ships, only smaller craft like the boat that had carried him from Lorn to the port-city of Suhn – but he knew the rhythms of the sea. The swaying sensation was one he associated with strong but steady winds – but there should have been waves, in that case.

Grey Star’s lips quirked. _And now I am_ curious _._

The bowl was empty, and he felt much stronger for it. Standing, he paused for a moment to take stock of his own condition, then nodded. He would not wish to remain on his feet for long – but he felt a chance to walk and breathe open air and living wind would do far more to help now than lying abed.

The medic, who’d introduced himself gruffly as Ardim Roskir, apparently agreed. After one last assessing look, he held out a long, heavy cloak dyed a deep, rich blue. Grey Star accepted it and pulled it over his shoulders carefully, not wanting to jostle his arm in its sling. He felt a small pang for the old cloak Lone Wolf had sacrificed for bandages; he had worn it since first he’d set out from his home. But he did notice that he was once again wearing his grey robes, and that someone had apparently carefully cleaned the blood from the fabric and stitched the open gash closed once more, and he made a mental note to find and thank that conscientious soul.

Then he took his staff in his right hand, and stepped outside.

Brilliant white sunlight blinded him for a moment, forcing him to raise his arm to shield his eyes. When he lifted his staff to do so, he stumbled slightly in the stiff wind, and immediately felt grateful for the heavy, lined cloak as he felt the slight sting of cold air nipping at the exposed skin of his face and arm. But the wind tasted nothing like that of the world they’d been on, and even as the chill tingled on his skin he could feel the fierce warmth of the sun soaking in. Blinking his eyes, he breathed in deeply, tasting clear, sweet air without the slightest hint of dust or sand. Strangely _dry_ air, so dry it seemed to pull the moisture from his mouth, with no hint of salt or seawrack.

Beyond curious now, he blinked and waited impatiently for eyes accustomed to the shadows of the cabin to adjust to the brilliance. Finally, though, the white glare began to take on definition as his eyes once more began to pick out colors and shapes, and finally, he lowered his arm.

And stared.

He stood, indeed, on the deck of a ship. A small ship, one that could probably carry no more than twenty people comfortably, rigged with two lanteen sails spreading like wings from the bow.

But this ship sailed no sea.

White clouds shining in the sunlight drifted in the distance or trailed as wispy streamers in their wake as the ship cut its course through a blazing blue sky, its color so vivid that it seemed to deepen into a nearly violet shade at the height of its vault. As Grey Star watched, one of the yardarms of those sweeping wing-sails brushed against one of those clouds, leaving a long ripple in the white mist as it passed. Then they were beyond the cloud, and the vast landscape spread out like a many-colored, many-textured blanket far below them.

Astonished, Grey Star braced himself with his good hand against the rail, using his staff to help anchor himself there as he leaned out to stare down. He dared not think how high they were; only the dreamlike quality of the scene kept him from dizziness at the sight of that long drop. Far below, dusty blue-green plains and dun earth gave way to the dark green of pine, and the first rocky ridges of the tall mountains that the ship flew alongside. Here and there, brilliant glints of reflected sunlight drew his eye to threadlike rivers and streams, carrying the water down from the mountains and towards the ocean.

A piercing cry nearby brought Grey Star’s head back up, his hair whipping loose and wild in the wind. An eagle soared upon that same wind not twenty yards from the side of their ship, close enough that he could clearly see the bright golden ring of its eye as it cocked its head this way and that, clearly trying to understand what this mad device was doing, intruding into the skies that _it_ rightfully ruled. Then it suddenly banked, changing course to fly directly towards them-

-cupped its wings slightly, and with no more effort than that, was lofted high above by the slipstream of air flowing over those sails. Laughing in delight, Grey Star turned to follow its flight as it soared with almost contemptuous ease up and over the skyship, gliding away towards those looming mountains.

Shaking his head, Grey Star impatiently shoved his flying hair back and away from his face – and found himself blinking at the broad, toothy grins of no fewer than fifteen dwarves who’d _just happened_ to be on deck to witness his reaction. He flushed, and then smiled ruefully at those grins, well aware that he’d been caught dead to rights acting like an excited child.

His smile was met with indulgent chuckles or approving nods, and as though that were some signal, the dwarves returned to what they had been doing – which for some of them took them right down below decks again, confirming his suspicion that they’d deliberately gathered on deck just to see their passenger’s face when he realized upon what sort of vessel he rode.

But one of their number stepped forward, clearing his throat courteously to draw Grey Star’s attention. “Welcome aboard the _Skyrider_ , Master Grey Star,” he said with a small bow. “I am Nolrim Basos, bo’sun.”

Grey Star tilted his head in lieu of a bow, conscious of the wound in his back, and of Ardim watching him from the door of the cabin with a gimlet eye. “I am honored to meet you, Master Nolrim,” he said. “This vessel is… a marvel.”

The dwarf waved a hand as though to dismiss the words, although Grey Star noted that his chest swelled slightly with pride. “It is our honor to offer aid to an ally of Lone Wolf,” he said.

Grey Star nodded, unsurprised. The portal had been intended to take them to friends, after all. Given that he recognized nothing of these people or this place, it stood to reason that they were allies of the Kai Lord. “Where is he?” he asked instead, having seen no other human on the desk.

The bo’sun pointed at another door, leading into the structure forming the upward sweep of the forward prow of the ship. “In the navigation room, conferring with the captain about our course. They asked that we invite you to join them when you woke, if you felt you had the strength for it.”

Grey Star nodded. The brisk, bright air and warm sunlight seemed to have suffused his entire body, taking with it the fatigue and strain of the past few days. All the same, he could feel the stinging bite of the air starting to burn at his cheeks, and a subtle weakness in his legs that suggested he would be wise to find somewhere to sit. “Then I will do so,” he said, and headed for the door, careful to stay out of the path of the busily working dwarves as they moved about in their tasks. Finding the latch unlocked, he eased it open quietly, so that he would not interrupt any conversation needlessly.

The room was small, likely no bigger than the cabin in which he had first awakened on this ship. A single table stood in its center, and three windows on the far wall poured sunlight across its surface. Every bit of wall space that was neither door nor window had been covered with shelves, filled somewhat haphazardly with a wild mixture of scrolls and tomes and parchment.

Lone Wolf and a blond-haired man wearing robes the same dark blue as the borrowed cloak Grey Star still wore sat at the table, faces lined with concentration and concern as they leaned forward to listen to the words of a bearded man wearing a jeweled headdress whose image filled a crystal sphere set on a small stand in the center of the table, with Prince Hamil standing pale-faced and quiet behind Lone Wolf’s shoulder. None of them looked up as Grey Star slipped inside; by the look of things, they had not even noticed the door opening.

“... _grave news indeed,_ ” the man was saying, as Grey Star eased the door shut behind himself. “ _And I do not know if we can aid you. The Sommerswerd was ancient long before Sun Eagle came to our halls seeking instruction._ ” A heavy sigh. “ _I must consult with the other Magi. We will scour the archives. Perhaps we will find something of use._ ”

Hand still on the handle of the door, Grey Star stilled.

He’d never attempted to hide his origins from the people of Shadaki. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he’d never had the option of trying. Shasarak had known of him from the day he’d sailed into Suhn, through spies or Shasarak’s own magics, or his dark pact with Agarash. And in the shadow of Shasarak’s terrible reign, the people had clung fiercely to their legends, desperate to keep some form of hope alive. They’d been quick to recognize what his grey robes meant.

Even so, he’d never forgotten that his foster family had played fast and loose with the terms of their vow of noninterference by raising him, training him, and then sending him forth to do what they could not. To his mind, the spirit of the oath remained unbroken; they had vowed not to interfere with the natural growth of humanity, and how could they truly claim to keep that vow when one of their own number sowed terror and despair? But he could not deny that they had bent the letter of their vow until it screamed.

And so he had quietly resolved to remain obscure, once his part in Shasarak’s fall was over. It was one of many reasons he had refused Sado, when the Freedom Guild’s leader had asked, on behalf of the people of Shasarak’s fallen empire, that he lead them as regent. A single wizard playing a role, however pivotal, in a much wider rebellion to topple a tyrant might be overlooked. But that same wizard reigning over a human kingdom? That was far more likely to draw Ishir’s eyes.

_And now I walk in the company of Lone Wolf, last of the Kai Lords, of whom prophecies speak._

Which meant he would need to walk very carefully indeed. He did not believe Lone Wolf meant harm – but the Kai Lord drew the eyes of the gods like a beacon on a night without moon or stars. Better by far to keep the truth of his origins to himself, and remain simply a young wizard from the south, of some unknown school.

But if any outside Shadaki would know the true significance of the grey robes – it would be the Elder Magi of Dessi.

Grey Star eased himself a few short steps to the side, so that he stood just to the side of one of those windows. There, the sunlight pouring in would serve to hide him. Even if the Magi noticed his presence, the man would not _see_ him.

“Is there truly _nothing_ we can do, save wait?” the blond mage asked, hands closing into fists where they rested on wood that had been scored by years of acting as a surface to which to pin maps or write.

There was a long and thoughtful pause. “ _Seek a sword-smith_ ,” the Magi replied slowly. “ _If your young wizard was wrong and the magic of the sword itself has vanished, I fear we may be beyond hope; there are none in this time who possess the power and knowledge combined to create it entirely anew. But if he is right, and that power yet slumbers within the Sommerswerd itself – whatever else, we must first restore the physical anchor of the sword’s essence. The blade itself must be mended._ ” The Magi sighed deeply, shaking his head. “ _And now I must make haste. Our archives are vast, and we have little time to seek solutions._ ”

“Thank you, Lord Rimoah.” Lone Wolf said quietly, dipping his head in respect. “Sommerlund is in your debt.”

“ _The world itself is in peril. None who truly serve the light would stand aside_ ,” the Magi – Lord Rimoah – replied firmly. “ _May Ishir and Kai protect you in your quest, young Banedon, and Kor-Skarn._ ”

He tilted his head in a bow of his own, and his image vanished from the crystal.

Lone Wolf released a slow sigh, shoulders slumping wearily. “My heart dislikes this course of action,” he admitted, and then shook his head as the theurgist – Banedon, and like as not the captain that the bo’sun had mentioned – looked at him with ill-disguised alarm. “It is no Kai foreboding, Banedon,” he said. “Just my own concern. If even the Magi do not understand the magic of the Sommerswerd – dare we risk meddling with the shards, when we know so little?”

“But the Magi are right,” Grey Star said quietly. “The Sommerswerd is always, first and foremost, a _sword_. Until the physical blade itself is restored, the magics that remain are fragile and homeless. Give them a blade again, to be their haven.”

The two men at the table started in surprise, and Prince Hamil actually jumped as he turned to stare.

“Grey Star.” Lone Wolf had half-risen from the table, apparently by reflex. “When did you arrive?”

“Only moments ago. Forgive me for not announcing myself, but I did not wish to interrupt.” True enough. So far as it went.

“Your input would have been welcome,” Lone Wolf’s companion said, rising from his own chair to bow politely. “My name is Banedon, Magemaster of the Brotherhood of the Crystal Star, the mage’s guild of Sommerlund. Lone Wolf has already made you known to me, Grey Star.” Deep-set, thoughtful eyes studied him with more than a little curiosity, curiosity that Grey Star had to admit he shared. His experiences with other magic-wielders since leaving the Isle of Lorn had mostly been limited to the dark arts of the Shadakine wytches, and the downright _odd_ Kundi magic that he still did not understand, and could not even sense. The whirling complexity of the spells bound up in the _Skyrider_ were like nothing he’d ever encountered before.

But to ask would be to invite questions in return, questions that he was not certain he could dare to answer.

But though Banedon was clearly curious, he simply gestured to an empty chair by the table. Well – mostly empty. A half-folded map lay across it, clearly hastily removed from the tabletop in order to clear space for the crystal sphere. “How are your wounds?” he asked, stepping around the table to retrieve it.

“On the mend,” Grey Star replied. “Though I would not be eager to repeat the experience any time soon.” And it was a greater relief to ease himself into the chair than he liked to admit, although he immediately faced the problem of how to sit without putting pressure on his wound and shoulder. Finally, he used his staff to stand up again, and then hooked the leg of the chair with his ankle and dragged it about so that he could sit backwards in it, with his good arm resting across the back of the chair. “How long was I asleep?” he asked.

Lone Wolf had been studying his odd posture with a hint of amusement, but the Kai Lord’s expression quickly grew solemn again. “Not so long as Ardim warned that you might. A full day, and perhaps a few hours more,” he replied.

Not as much as he’d feared, then – after finding the Kundi, he’d been so drained he’d slept for three days. And after the battle against Shasarak and Agarash…

Grey Star stiffened suddenly, feeling himself pale. “What is the date?” he demanded.

Lone Wolf blinked, seemingly taken aback. But Banedon’s eyes widened slightly in sudden understanding. “It is the five thousandth and sixty-third year of the Moonstone,” he replied.

Grey Star breathed a sigh of relief, resting his head on his arm for a moment as he thanked Ishir. Seeing Lone Wolf’s puzzled expression out of the corner of his eye, he explained, “Time does not always pass in an even flow between worlds. A few days in the astral realm of the Dazairn might be seven years here on Magnamund.” He still remembered that horrible jolt when he’d learned that he’d left his friends and allies to stand alone against Shasarak for so long. Sado and Samu had used the time well, and without their preparations the war would not have been won… but he should have been there helping them.

_I must contact them._ He had already been out of contact for several days at least, and they had known he was traveling into potential danger. Tanith in particular would be furious; she had wanted to accompany him, although both of them knew that with the vulnerability to mind-magics that Mother Magri had trained into her, the danger had simply been too great.

_Her skills in spells of summoning would have been welcome in manipulating the portal_ , he admitted to himself – and wondered if their enemies had not planned to ensure her absence, for exactly that reason.

Banedon nodded. “I had not thought of that. But if the Darklord truly is using that shard to muster his forces, I suspect that he would not have chosen one too far out of sync with our own lands.”

Thin-lipped, Lone Wolf nodded. “We have contacted King Ulnar of Sommerlund,” he explained, “to report that his heir is safe, and warn him of treachery among his nobles. And that the Darklord’s forces remain poised to strike.” His face darkening, he added, “I doubt that our actions have disturbed his planning overmuch. Particularly given that our battle with him in the tower appears to have been part of those plans from the very start.”

Grey Star winced, but had to nod his agreement.

Banedon sighed, leaning his elbow on the table as he rested his chin on the heel of his hand. “Unfortunately, our warnings can do little good when we do not know where he means to strike,” the mage said, eyes troubled.

“I’m sorry,” Prince Hamil said, swallowing. “He visited the place once in my body, but… all I remember is darkness, and wastelands, and the ruins of a city.”

Which described all too many places in the world, Grey Star reluctantly acknowledged, as he frowned in thought. Without some way of narrowing it down…

He blinked as a thought struck him and looked at Lone Wolf. “We found a crystal keystone set in the sigil for the portal,” he recalled. “Have you tried using it to dowse for the location?”

Banedon’s jaw dropped. “Dowsing?” he echoed, sounding baffled. “But… that is the magic of hedgewitches, meant to search dry fields for water.”

“But it can be much more,” Grey Star told the theurgist firmly, and shifted his gaze back to Lone Wolf.

Expression thoughtful, the Kai Lord pulled the simple pendant on its chain forth from a pouch on his belt and held it out.

“You truly believe this will work?” Banedon asked him curiously, as Grey Star stood up from his chair to take the token.

Meeting Grey Star’s eyes rather than Banedon’s, Lone Wolf nodded slowly. “He brewed a tea that tasted of sunlight, using nothing but common dried flowers,” the Kai Lord noted, and the corner of his mouth quirked slightly upward as he picked up that half-folded map and spread it upon the table, forcing the theurgist to hastily retrieve the crystal sphere and its stand before they were knocked from place. “Sometimes, perhaps, it is the small magics that carry the most strength.”

Blinking again, Banedon leaned forward, staring at Grey Star curiously. “How?” he asked.

Taken aback, Grey Star hesitated. Of all the mystic arts he had learned, he had never expected the simple tricks of alchemy to draw such comment.

“The flowers grew in sunlight, and were dried in the same,” he said, wondering. These were basic principles to him, so basic that they simply formed a part of how he looked on the world, rather than being something he actively thought about. “Their very nature remembered that light. As this stone remembers the place for which it was made.”

Pendent resting in his palm, Grey Star extended his hand to Prince Hamil. The upper line of the boy’s lower lip vanished under nervous teeth as the boy bit at it uncertainly, but he still reached out as though to take the pendant. Rather than handing it over, however, Grey Star shifted their hands so that the pendant was cupped between them.

“Think back on that place, Prince Hamil,” he said quietly, “as vividly as you can, though I know you would prefer never to see it again. See it in your mind. Feel it on your skin. Hear its voice in your ears. Breathe it in, and taste its air on your tongue. Fix your mind on those memories and _be_ there in mind, as you once were in body.”

Prince Hamil shuddered, and Grey Star could feel the boy’s hand trembling where it rested over his, small grip tightening on his own until both their fingers were white. But the boy nodded shortly and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

As he did so, Grey Star focused on the map, willing himself to see it, not as inked symbols on vellum, but as the living land he had seen from the deck only a few minutes before, covered in the rough lines of mountains, the dark of forests, the glint of sunlight on the silvery-dark threads of mighty rivers.

“I have it,” the boy said quietly, tone slightly distant, as though in a trance.

Grey Star nodded, although Prince Hamil’s eyes were still closed. “Good. Hold it in your mind, _feel_ it there,” he said – and, shifting his fingers, let the crystal pendant drop to hang glittering in the sunlight at the end of its chain. Driven by the momentum of its own weight, it bounced at the end of the chain briefly, casting brilliant flecks of rainbow across the entire room as it twirled and swung back and forth like a pendulum, the back-and-forth swing slowly winding down as it expended its inertia.

Then, suddenly, its swaying and swinging stopped – hanging, not down from their hands, but at an angle, defying the dictates of gravity. Pointing away from Sommerlund, over which their joined hands hovered, and towards the south.

Grey Star heard a sharp intake of breath – Lone Wolf or Banedon, he was not certain which. Nor did it matter; blocking the sound from his mind, he murmured, “Well done. Keep that image.” And, slowly, began to move their hands to follow that pointing crystal.

The pendent continued to steadily point south as they moved, and for a heart-stopping moment Grey Star wondered if it would lead them to Shadaki – but as their hands passed over the Tentarias, the sea-filled rift that divided Northern and Southern Magnamund, the crystal suddenly swung eastward, and their hands followed. Until at last the pendant hung straight down, never swaying as the skyship shivered in a patch of rough air, pointing straight at a roughly circular region on the northernmost border of the Sadi desert, surrounded on all sides by mountains and inked the dark grey of a wasteland.

“Thank you,” he said to the prince, and released the spell and the boy’s hand. Prince Hamil started as though wakened from a dream or trance, and stared at the map for a long moment before reluctantly withdrawing his hand.

“The Wasteland of Hol-da-Kiem,” Lone Wolf said, and settled back in his chair, pursing his lips. “I know little of that place – though the name alone seems unpromising.” Turning, he raised an eyebrow at Grey Star.

Grey Star sank back onto the chair, carefully untangling the chain of the pendant from his fingers one-handed. “I have heard but a little,” he said. “A great city of light once stood there. But its people vanished from the world of men, and the city stood empty and abandoned, until in time its ruins fell into decay and then darkness.”

Vanished, to live instead on an island wreathed in mist and mystic storms, isolated from humanity by their vow. Until a chance storm on the night of Shasarak’s coronation had carried the shattered remnants of a ship and a single survivor to their shores.

_But they departed by choice, and left nothing save the shell of the city itself, lest some wanderer find his way into its halls._ Idly, he turned the crystal in his fingers, recognizing the simple crystalline circle now for what it was – the full moon, a symbol of peace and prosperity and magic, and now he was doubly glad that they had taken the key from their enemy’s keeping.

As he was lost in thought, Banedon sighed heavily. “I dislike the thought of leaving a Darklord’s plans unopposed, if only on general principles,” he commented, “but… at least Hol-da-Kiem is distant, and isolated. I think his forces will not present a particular threat there…” Suddenly snapping his mouth closed, he winced, and cast an apologetic look at Grey Star.

Grey Star looked down at the map, pressing his lips into a thin line as he studied the open expanse of the Sadi Desert. He could hardly blame the two Sommlending men for looking to their country first; Sommerlund stood adjacent to the Darklands themselves, the very seat of the Darklords’ power, separated only by the peaks of the Durncrag Mountains. And to be fair, the basin of Hol-da-Kiem lay surrounded by mountains, separated from the more populated regions of Southern Magnamund by the Sadi Desert; it was unlikely their enemy meant to move on the free peoples of the south immediately, if that were indeed his intent. That did not make his proximity a comfortable thought.

Lone Wolf was frowning. “What I do not understand is _why_ he would choose such a place,” he said, unknowingly echoing Grey Star’s own thoughts. “Hol-da-Kiem is far from the Darklands. Why would he shift his power away from Helgadad, particularly as the Darklords war to determine who will ascend to Haakon’s throne?”

_They don’t know_ , Grey Star realized, stiffening.

Of course they didn’t. He had only realized because of that one, brief comment, because he _knew_ of whom their enemy had spoken…

“Why he chose that place, I do not know,” he said quietly. “But I fear you are mistaken in one vital aspect, my friends. We faced no mere Darklord. Not of Helgadad, at any rate.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his eyes to meet theirs gravely.

“Or perhaps better to say that we face the _only_ true lord of darkness. For the enemy we faced in that tower was _Naar_.”

 

* * *

 

OMAKE: “Well enough, though I would not wish to repeat the experience.”

Banedon raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels as though my day would not be complete without being stabbed, slashed, cudgeled, bludgeoned, burned, or passing too near an explosion at least once.”

“That would explain Master Ardim’s expression,” Grey Star noted wryly.

Lone Wolf considered laughing. On the other hand, given that _his_ day was rarely complete without receiving a dying message, having a vital item stolen, surviving at least two assassination attempts, and thwarting a Darklord plot…

Perhaps he was better off not saying anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The purpose of my existence: plucking you out of awkward fixes!” Y’know, Banedon, you’re not exactly wrong… And as an aside, he supposedly won himself a crew of dwarves by _gambling_ – and, it’s strongly implied, cheating, since Lone Wolf notes that apparently the former captain hadn’t known of Banedon’s true profession until after the fact. Given that the crew seems perfectly pleased to serve under him, one must assume the dwarves found this hilarious. (Of course, the fact that they get to crew a _flying ship_ may have something to do with their willingness to go along with him!)
> 
> Speaking of which – Ardim Roskir is the canon but unnamed medic with the red velvet satchel that treats Banedon in _Shadows on the Sand_. Bo’sun Nolrim is likewise canonical, though I gave him a surname.
> 
> _Cauldron of Fear_ (Lone Wolf 9) has Banedon as a Magemaster, while he was a Journeymaster in _Shadows on the Sand_ “six years ago, when they last met.” Meaning that apparently books six through eight took three years in total, after the canon three-year span between five and six. My plotbunnies say that most of that time was spent studying with the Magi – _Castle of Death_ only took a few days, if that. Still. See previous comments about impressionistic timelines…
> 
> As I mentioned earlier, I see Shianti magic as being a kind of Zen style of magic. Theurgist magic, bunnies are comparing to baroque: busy, complex, and demanding great levels of technical skill, and thus the complex apparati associated with wizards – ornate staffs, scrolls, wants, crystals, the works. The musical parallel to Grey Star’s style might be Hildegaard of Bingen’s plainchant: simple and soaring.
> 
> Speaking of which – I couldn’t recall if we ever got any indication in the Grey Star books as to what kind of food the people of Shadaki ate, but since they usually have a vaguely Indian theme (jungles and all), I went with curries. The Shianti, on the other hand, probably eat a lot of fish, and fairly simple foods – spices are hard to grow, and they don’t have the option of trading for luxuries. And yes, Grey Star’s first sight of the world from the airship warrants a The World Is Awesome scene!
> 
> Given that the Shianti _did_ play fast and loose with their oath where Grey Star is concerned, it always struck me as odd that Grey Star is so open about his background in the books – particularly early on, before he learns that Shasarak already knows about him. (Depending on your choices, that can be because you’re mobbed by a bunch of people _certain_ you’re a Chosen One come to deliver them – which you are, but you’re far from ready at that point! – or you get arrested either because your conversation partner got too chatty or simply _because you’re there_. In which case, given that you thwart the interrogation one way or another, Shasarak must have gotten his information from other sources.) Given that I’m handwaving aside the epilogue where Ishir thanks them for their actions, he has no idea how she’ll react. Considering that the Shianti faced returning to their nomadic diaspora across the dimensions if they _didn’t_ agree to isolate themselves from humans (and it’s mentioned in the prologue of _Grey Star the Wizard_ that they raised and trained him “in the shadow of the wrath of Ishir,” meaning they _definitely_ suspected she wouldn’t agree with their interpretation of their vow), odds are he’d really rather not find out.
> 
> Hol-da-Kiem appears on the Magnamund Companion maps, but so far as I can discern there is no canonical information about it – that the Shianti capital was once there, I made up out of whole cloth. (Although I did find a forum thread speculating that some of the final Lone Wolf adventures might be set there, that there could be something like the ruins of an ancient city, and that maybe that would be the adventure where Lone Wolf finally teamed up with “a certain dull-colored wizard” – since I’d already picked out Hol-da-Kiem as a likely spot for the plot of this story, that made me grin!)
> 
> …also, have to rant. “Vanished from the world of men” may be annoyingly gendered, but “vanished from the world of humanity” just doesn’t _sound_ right, darn it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the Test of the Fingers goes to the movie Willow.

For a long moment, Lone Wolf could only stare at the grim face of the young wizard, feeling as though some great hand had reached into his chest to wring the breath from his lungs.

Slowly, Banedon shook his head. “No,” he breathed, looking as stunned as Lone Wolf felt. “No, that is impossible. Naar is bound by the Pact of Ishir and the power of Kai; so long as their powers remain locked, he cannot enter Magnamund…”

“And if you think on what has happened so far, he has not,” Grey Star replied. “He stood on the dying fragment of a long-lost world – and even then, it was not Naar we faced, but Naar’s _will_ , riding the body of this child.” As he spoke, the wizard reached out and rested his hand on the shoulder of Prince Hamil, who stood white-faced and trembling beside him. The boy gulped, but seemed to draw strength from the light touch, finding the back of the last unclaimed chair with his hand and shakily sinking down into it.

Lone Wolf found himself wishing he could do the same, although he was already seated. The world seemed to shake around him, in a way that had nothing to do with the vibrations running through the _Skyrider_ as they passed through another patch of rough air.

Grey Star drew in a careful breath. “He spoke of counterparts who stood as guardians of the Kai Lords, when we faced him,” he continued, looking at Lone Wolf. “Those guardians could only be the Sun Lord Kai, and his second Ishir, Lady of the Moon.”

Lone Wolf had nearly forgotten those words in the struggle of wills and weapons, and the terror and despair that had followed. But now, the pieces were falling into place. “His followers were all drawn from the ranks of men, not the dark legions of Helgedaad,” he said slowly.

“Many places pay homage to Naar, though not always under that name,” Banedon breathed. “By drawing upon the ranks of his worshippers, he is free to act without tapping the strength of his Darklords – and without drawing unwanted eyes to his plans. Humans are free to choose good or evil as their hearts lead them.”

A tension Lone Wolf had not consciously seen eased from Grey Star’s good shoulder. “You believe me?” the young man asked, carefully.

Lone Wolf nodded. “I wish I did not,” he answered honestly. “But the pieces fit.” Lips firming in a grim line, he added, “And Naar has ever played a long game. I do not think the Darklords would have the foresight to craft the events that shattered the Sommerswerd; they would rather have slain me then and there.”

Banedon nodded as well, the motion jerky and reluctant. “But what does this mean to us now?” he asked.

Lone Wolf crossed his arms over his chest. “The politics of Helgedaad mean little to Naar,” he said thoughtfully. “He rules over all the Darklords equally. He cannot be avoiding the Darklands for that purpose.”

“More than that,” Grey Star said, leaning forward. “By acting directly upon this world, even if only through the means of puppets, Naar skirts the very edges of the Pact of Ishir. I do not think he would risk such brazen actions, unless he stood to gain something of critical importance. Something that would tip the balance of Magnamund, and Aon itself, in his favor.”

Banedon shivered. “But what…” he began – and then cut his w^tords off sharply as the _Skyrider_ suddenly jolted as though lifted and then dropped by a sudden gale, so violently this time that Banedon was forced to close his mouth to keep from biting his own tongue, and Grey Star and Lone Wolf to grab at their chairs to keep from being cast to the floor.

“What is going _on_ out there?” Banedon cried, rising from his seat as the ship settled – although it continued to jolt and shudder beneath them like a wagon racing at full gallop across broken rocks, forcing him to plant his feet wide and clutch the side of the table for balance. Before he could move more than a step or two, however, the door to the deck flew open.

“Captain. You’d best come see this,” Bo’sun Nolrim said grimly, and for the first time Lone Wolf began to grasp the logic behind Banedon’s seemingly improbable crew; the low center of gravity granted by the dwarf’s broad, short stature allowed him to stand steady, even as the ship shuddered through another of those stomach-jolting moments of free-fall.

Lunging to his feet, Banedon rushed out of the cabin and onto the deck, Lone Wolf following close on the theurgist’s heels.

Instantly he knew that something was wrong. The brilliant sunlight of the high skies had dimmed, although the sky overhead remained blazingly blue.

Turning, Lone Wolf drew in a sharp breath.

Looming over the mountains to the northwest, a black cloud rose towering against the blue of the sky, until at its top it blossomed outwards, forming the anvil on which the gods would strike their hammers of thunder. Deep in its heart, Lone Wolf could see the reddish flickers of lightning dancing among the clouds, lancing down from the base in flashes to strike the mountains’ peaks.

Beside him, Banedon cursed fiercely. “That is no natural storm,” the theurgist said, eyes narrowed and intent.

Even as they watched, Lone Wolf could see the cloud growing as it bore down on them in defiance of the wind. Already, the first edges of that great thunderhead’s mantle had blocked the afternoon sunlight, casting a great shadow across the _Skyrider_ and the land below it. The dwarves hurried about the decks, securing lines and playing the sails as they eyed the looming thunderhead.

Banedon leapt forward, racing up the stair-ladder leading to the forward deck to set his hand on the brilliantly flashing many-faceted crystal sphere that served as the _Skyrider_ ’s helm. “Pipe the crew, Bo’sun,” he called grimly, clipping an anchor line to his belt as the sphere glimmered in response to his touch, the ship’s jerking course beginning to even. “This will be no easy race.”

“It seems that our enemy has found us,” Grey Star said quietly.

Lone Wolf glanced over his shoulder. “You should get out of the open,” he suggested, eyeing the wizard’s sling-bound left arm. He could see one of the dwarves already ushering Prince Hamil to the relative safety of the ship’s hold.

Grey Star shook his head. He was opening his mouth to speak when harsh cries echoed across the skies, drawing all eyes upwards.

Shrieking winged shadows stooped down upon the _Skyrider_ , flying not from the shadows of the storm but from the vaulting, open sky on either side of the ship.

“Kraan-riders!” Lone Wolf heard himself bellow, the alarm echoed by a dozen other voices as the air filled with the beating of leathery wings and the almost metallic shrieks of the Kraan as they dove. Without thinking, Lone Wolf reached over his shoulder for a weapon, only to close on open air-

Then leather and wood pressed against his fingers; one of the dwarves had brought his bow, already strung, and his loaded quiver as well. Lone Wolf shouted thanks, but the dwarf was already hurrying away, his other hand filled with the wood-and-iron shaft of an arquebus, to take his place with a line of five others stationed along one side of the ship, clipping lines to rails and priming their weapons. Six more dwarves lined the other rail, guns already loaded.

“Ready!” Nolrim bellowed. “First rank – _fire_!”

Thunder and flames belched from the muzzles as three dwarves on either side brought their weapons up and pulled the triggers. Three Kraan jolted, wings folding strengthlessly as they fell like stones from the sky, to the screams of their riders. The others veered off, the strength of their dive broken.

But a second wave was already above the ship and stooping down, a third behind them, and Lone Wolf heard Nolrim cursing. “First rank, drop and reload!” he roared. “Second rank, aim and fire! All hands, stand by to repel boarders!”

Once again, thunder and fire rent the air, setting his ears to ringing. But Lone Wolf gritted his teeth and fought the urge to cover his ears. Instead, he set arrow to string and raised his bow. One Kraan, larger than the others, had evaded the gunfire and was stooping down on the sails, wicked talons spread wide to catch and rend delicate, spell-woven fabric asunder.

Lone Wolf’s arrow skimmed across the creature’s brow ridge, forcing it to flinch aside as blood poured down to blind that eye – and a bolt of blue-white energy seared through the delicate membrane of one of its wings near where it anchored to the Kraan’s body. Out of the corner of his eye, Lone Wolf could see Grey Star standing, back pressed against the wall of the cabin for stability and protection. His staff rested in his good hand, the tip of the plain oaken pole blazing white light like a lost star.

But Lone Wolf had no time for more than a quick nod as the great Kraan came around again – slower this time, half-blinded and forced to correct for the weakened wing. Raising his bow, Lone Wolf forced his breathing to slow and even, reaching for the familiar deep calm of battle. Heart steady, he released, and this time his arrow sank deep into the Kraan’s other eye, piercing its brain. The wounded wing folded, sending the creature tumbling sideways in the air, just barely missing the yardarms of the sails as it fell-

A gaunt figure wrapped in a black cloak leapt free, to land aboard the deck, serrated sword already in hand. Two dwarves lunged to engage it, crying out furiously – but it raised its head to reveal a ghastly rictus-grin of rotted flesh and bone, orange balefire flaring malevolently in dark sockets, and the warriors cried out, dropping weapons to the ground as they involuntarily clutched at their heads. The wicked sword rose, fell-

And clashed on steel as Lone Wolf dropped his bow and lunged, sword in hand, to meet the attack.

Blades locked, the Helghast looked into Lone Wolf’s eyes, burning orange and grin green a bare handspan apart – and _smiled_.

The mental blast struck his mind’s shields like red-black fire, sending sparks dancing across his vision for a moment. Gritting his teeth, Lone Wolf braced himself and struck back, a mental snap of shining sun-wolf fangs. But the psychic attack scattered against the empty _hunger_ of his foe’s mind, and the Helghast laughed, low and hollow, as it shoved forward, forcing Lone Wolf to disengage.

Crouched low for balance on the swaying, shuddering deck, Lone Wolf and his foe circled each other, eyes locked as each sought for the first hint of weakness.

Only once before had Lone Wolf been forced to engage a Helghast without the burning fire of the Sommerswerd at his hand. That battle had nearly cost him his life, and to this day he was not certain how he had survived, unless Kai or Ishir themselves had raised hand to aid him in the desperate struggle. Helghasts were cruel creatures, capable of digging claws into mind and flesh alike, and nearly invincible against mortal weapons.

But survive he had. And he was no longer the frightened, barely-blooded young Aspirant of those dark days.

The Helghast’s mind clawed at his own again, but his shields cast it off. Of far greater danger was the effect of the mental attack on his allies; hardy as the dwarves of Bor were, Lone Wolf could see them stumbling or shaking their heads as they stood, struggling against the blinding pain even as a third wave came in. And now their guns were spent, and they had no time to reload in an orderly fashion, and he could hear and feel the _thud_ of feet on the planks of the deck as more boarders joined the battle.

Above all else, Lone Wolf could not afford to let the Helghast turn the force of its mind fully on his allies. Teeth gritted, he lunged in, and steel flashed against steel as he and the Helghast cut and parried back and forth, furious and fast. The Helghast’s bladework was no match for his own – but it was far stronger than anything human. And Lone Wolf had to watch his footing, lest he trip on rope or the roll and shudder of the deck itself.

An opening caught his eye. He lunged-

And cursed his trained reflexes, a moment too late.

The Helghast laughed as the simple sword sank harmlessly into the empty spaces between its ribs, tangling the blade. Bony fingers reached down and gripped at the blade itself, preventing Lone Wolf from withdrawing it. The undead demon whirled, slamming them both against the rail of the _Skyrider_ , and Lone Wolf suddenly realized that it intended to cast both of them over the edge.

Baring his teeth at the mocking orange flames of the Helghast’s eyes, Lone Wolf let go of the useless hilt and drove his fist into the rictus grin of the Helghast’s face. There was more than flesh and blood to his blow; into his strike, he cast all of his will, his training, and his defiance of the darkness.

Bone splintered. In the darkness of those staring sockets, orange light flickered in a startled blink.

And now it was Lone Wolf’s turn to smirk, as the Helghast actually drew back for a moment in shock that a mere _punch_ could harm it-

Straight into the powerful jab of an oaken staff, striking home directly in the center of the Helghast’s skeletal sternum. Blue-white force flared as the blow struck home, sending the startled Helghast flying over the rail and into the open air.

Snatching up the sword that had fallen free when the Helghast was distracted, Lone Wolf exchanged a quick nod with Grey Star as the wizard settled his staff back in a ready position with only a hint of a flinch, having freed his left arm from the sling to fight. They had no more time than that, however. He’d kept the Helghast from crippling the _Skyrider_ ’s crew completely – but the waves of attackers had overwhelmed the dwarves’ arquebuses, and now battle surged back and forth across the deck, shouts of the Drakkarim soldiers mingling with the dwarven roars of, “ _Blood for blood_!”

Then a Drakkarim soldier flew off the stair-ladder leading to the forecastle to crash down on the deck with a _crack_ like thunder, trailing a scent of ozone and with sparks of lightning still dancing across his body. And Banedon shouted, “All hands, _pirate roll_!”

Every dwarf dropped to the deck, grabbing for netting or ropes or railings or simply clinging to the boards like limpets. Lone Wolf latched onto the rail with one hand – and with his other, reached out and grabbed Grey Star by the belt, as the _Skyrider_ suddenly rolled in the air and ground took the place of sky overhead. The wizard let out a breathless yelp of surprise, barely audible above the gleeful whoops of the dwarves as they dangled from hand-holds and securing belts and the screams of the boarders as they were hurtled out over decks and outriggers and into the void. Then the world flipped upright again as Banedon righted the ship in its course, having shaken its unwanted riders clear.

But they were not out of danger yet. Caught up in combat, the _Skyrider_ and her crew had lost ground against a far greater threat. Already the dark mantle of the unnatural storm loomed overhead, and even as Lone Wolf released the young wizard so that they could both scramble back to their feet, the skyship jerked sideways in a sudden, brutal crosswind, battered sails and pennant flapping madly in the wild winds heralding the onrushing storm front.

Still coughing for air and white-faced from the close call, Grey Star looked up at the sails, and then towards the looming shadow of the storm as the _Skyrider_ veered further off. The dwarves were scrambling frantically, and Lone Wolf could see the helm-crystal blazing under Banedon’s hands – but it was all too clear that they were about to be pulled in, despite their every effort. In the distance, he could see the Kraan-riders peeling off, jeering above the shrieks of their mounts rather than diving into the deadly storm themselves.

Thin-lipped, Grey Star turned to Lone Wolf. “Guard me,” he said shortly, silver and black hair whipping wildly around his face as contrary winds blasted them from every direction.

Then he raised his staff up, and brought it down to ground against the planking of the deck as grey eyes went distant.

Miraculously, Lone Wolf’s bow had not fallen in the mad roll, its string caught on a hook in the rigging. Retrieving it, Lone Wolf nocked an arrow.

One of the Kraan-riders had seen Grey Star and rose up in his stirrups as the beast swooped closer, the beginnings of red energy beginning to gather around him. Gauging the wind, Lone Wolf angled his aim, drew, and released.

The arrow cut through the air, missing his target by a mere hair’s breadth, skimming past the man’s ear. But Lone Wolf saw him cry out and clap a hand to his face – and the red energy dissipated, its caster’s concentration broken.

A great gale rose around them, the sound of the torrent of air like a river suddenly unleashed from a dam. Sails billowing, the _Skyrider_ leapt forward, riding the wings of the great wind and breaking free of the sucking pull of the storm. The dwarves cheered gleefully as the _Skyrider_ shot away to blue skies again, hastily swarming the rigging and hauling the lines to steady their course as the Kraan-riders shouted in shock and frustration, unable to follow such a wild gale.

Then the _Skyrider_ escaped even the shadow of the storm, emerging into shining sunlight again, and the cheers faltered in sudden shock.

A translucent shape paced them, long and trailing and serpentine, the curve of its form too delicate to be anything but the air itself. It shimmered in a way not unlike a desert mirage, but shot through with hints of what might have been tiny particles of snow glittering in the brilliant light of the sun.

Aboard the _Skyrider_ , awed silence reigned. On the upper deck above, Lone Wolf could see Banedon staring open-mouthed as the dragon-serpent of air tilted its head slightly, as though studying the _Skyrider_ with a kind of tolerant amusement.

Grey Star lifted his staff from the deck and stepped to the rail, shifting the staff to his left hand so that he could raise the right, palm up, in a gesture not at all unlike that which he had used to greet a much smaller version of a very similar creature. The wind-serpent whirled closer, a strange whisker-like tendril reaching down to brush not the wizard’s upraised fingers but his wildly blowing hair, whipping it into a wild tangle.

The wizard smiled. “Thank you for your aid!” he called, shouting to be heard above the rush of the wind.

The air-tendril flipped his hair again, as though in acknowledgement – and then something dark and dangerous flashed in the wind-serpent’s eyes as it banked up and away, whirling back towards the dark storm still glowering in the distance. As it departed, the wind ebbed as well, the landscape below slowing as the _Skyrider_ dropped back to her normal pace. The dwarves stirred, blinking as though waking from a spell – and then jumped as Bo’sun Nolrim quickly piped a few sharp directions, hastily manning the sails and trim again. Above, Banedon visibly shook himself and began scanning the landscape.

Grey Star sighed and shifted his staff to his good hand again, leaning on it with a kind of satisfied weariness as he cast Lone Wolf a small smile.

“There is never a dull moment, is there?” he asked wryly.

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

“That was an elemental from the Upper Reaches.”

Grey Star looked up as Banedon dropped down to sit in one of the unoccupied chairs of the table, although a sharp clearing of the throat from Master Ardim warned him against even _thinking_ about standing. Busy with the hurts of the crew, the medic had been forced to wait until now to see what damage Grey Star had done to his wounds, but he’d made his opinion on Grey Star’s decision to participate in the battle _extremely_ clear. Grey Star was fairly certain that only the fact that he had returned his arm to its sling and quickly retreated to the captain’s cabin to rest had kept the medic from fetching spare rope from the rigging and _tying_ him into the bed until Ardim was ready to declare him fully healed.

“It was,” he agreed. “I admit – when I sent forth my call, I had not expected such a response.”

That he _would_ find aid from the air, he’d been quite certain. The elementals might have little to do with the great wars of light and darkness, only the natural ebb and flow of the world itself; they were neither good nor evil, they simply _were_. But that black-clouded storm had been _wrong_ , an offense against the powers of nature, and he’d known the elementals would be eager to meet such a challenge within their dominion. But he’d only hoped to summon enough of a wind to help the _Skyrider_ win free, or perhaps to shield her from the worst of the rage, that they might survive the howling storm.

The elements had proven to have different plans.

Lone Wolf looked up from where he stood studying the map of the region he’d spread out across the table, trying to determine their location and the course for the coming day. Once free of the storm, they had flown into the mountains to evade pursuit, ducking through several hair-raising tight valleys before settling the _Skyrider_ beneath an overhanging cliff that should hide them from winged searchers, after the darkness of evening had made further flight too dangerous to attempt without pressing cause. “Upper Reaches?” he echoed, arching a pale brow.

“The highest domain of the sky, beyond the reach of the tallest mountains or the highest-flying of birds,” Banedon explained. “It is the realm of air, where the most powerful elementals dwell.” He turned curious eyes back to Grey Star. “Even the Guildmaster himself would hesitate to call such an entity. How is it that you were able to control it?”

The older wizard’s artless curiosity drew a smile to Grey Star’s lips, as he thought back on Tanith’s similarly eager questions, after they had escaped Mother Magri’s clutches in Suhn. Having grown up a student of the Shadakine wytches in service to Shasarak, Tanith had been taught, and truly believed, that true power could only come with a hardness of the heart – apathy at best, if not active, malevolent cruelty. Her “apprenticeship” had been one of manipulation and exploitation, with Tanith treated more as a source of power for Mother Magri’s demon-summonings than a student. The strange contrast of Grey Star’s power and his kind character had cast everything she had thought she had known into doubt, and opened up a world she was desperately eager to explore. Had it not been for Shan’s irritably pointed questions about how long she planned to keep their _real_ wizard from sleep, she would have kept him up for hours by the campfire with her constant questions.

It still amused Grey Star, though Shan’s death would always tinge the memory with a hint of sadness, that the _one_ thing those two had ever managed to agree on – _ever_ – was looking after his well-being.

To Banedon, he gave the same answer he had given Tanith, when she asked a similar question of him. “I do not. I simply ask for aid.”

Banedon’s eyes widened. “Is that not dangerous?” he demanded. “The elementals see the world very differently than humans.”

“It is only dangerous if you _expect_ them to act as humans,” Grey Star corrected. “The key is to understand that they do _not_ , and instead learn to think as they do. And to earn their friendship and alliance, as you would any other summoned creature, so that they know of you and are well-inclined towards you.”

His own friendship with the elementals had begun very early indeed. The lesser elementals had been his playmates as a child – small creatures, harmless, easily frightened away unless he learned to adapt himself to their ways, but eager and curious about a young child bright with magic and willing to share this power with them. And as he had grown, those lesser elementals had drawn the attention of greater ones to him, and those in turn drew others, stronger still.

_To truly claim to be a master of elemental magics would be the work of a lifetime. But worth it_.

Banedon had settled back in his chair, studying Grey Star with thoughtful eyes.

“…Who _are_ you?” he finally asked. “When I was your age, I was only an apprentice – and yet you have accomplished feats of magic that the greatest masters of my guild would hesitate to attempt. You wear no guild robes or insignia with which I am familiar, and I thought I knew the schools even of the south. And your staff…” He made a frustrated gesture, clearly at a loss for words.

“What of it?” Lone Wolf asked, looking half-amused by the theurgist’s struggle. But he had turned fully away from the maps now, his full attention on their conversation.

“A wizard’s staff holds a store of his power,” Banedon explained. “Crystals, runes – those are not mere ornaments, but an integral part of its function. And yet…” He nodded to the staff leaning against the side of the table. “Had I not seen it in action with my own eyes, I would have said that was no more than a common quarterstaff!”

Grey Star’s lips quirked slightly. “And you would not have been wrong,” he said. “It _is_ a common quarterstaff. Or it was, when first I took it up.”

And oh, but that had been hard. His first staff had been his for years, even before he had reached the height to wield it properly. Losing it in the battle against Shasarak… that had felt like losing a close friend, almost dearer than his own limbs.

Reaching out, he brushed a hand against polished oak – a gift from his friends, in the aftermath of the battle. “It is my use of it that has made it something far more. And that is why I dared not leave it in Naar’s hands.”

Banedon’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grey Star frowned, searching for words. At length, he asked, “Have you ever been given the Test of the Fingers?”

Banedon blinked. “I do not think I have. Certainly I have never heard of such a trial.”

Nodding, Grey Star raised his hand, fingers extended. “Tell me – which finger holds your magic?”

The theurgist frowned. “But that makes no sense. Magic does not gather in one finger or another. True, we may use our hands for trained gestures, to shape the power, but…”

“Nevertheless, the key is in the question,” Grey Star said, eyes level, his outspread hand still raised.

Lone Wolf made a startled sound, and to Grey Star’s surprise, the Kai Lord raised a hand to cover his mouth, as though to hide a sudden smile.

“Ah. I think I know this riddle,” he said, lowering his hand. The set of his face was solemn again – but a rare glitter of amusement danced in his eyes. “The Magi gave me a similar challenge, when I traveled to Dessi. Apparently it was once custom that a Kai Master face this trial, before he was permitted to advance to the study of the Magnakai Disciplines.”

Grey Star blinked. Which order, he wondered, had started the tradition? Or had they simply grown up independently, to answer the needs of similar schools of wisdom?

But Lone Wolf was nodding to Banedon. “He is right. The key is in the question. And though it took some time to grasp the answer, I did find it in the end.”

Frowning, the blond wizard turned back to Grey Star, studying the outstretched fingers. Finally, with a shrug, he reached out and tapped the index finger.

Slowly, Grey Star bent the finger down, shaking his head in negation.

Banedon blinked, then tapped Grey Star’s thumb.

Carefully hiding a smile, Grey Star curled it in to his palm and shook his head; _wrong again_.

Banedon narrowed his eyes, looking determined now, as he eyed the remaining three extended fingers, clearly puzzling it over in his mind. Finally, gingerly, he reached out and touched Grey Star’s ring finger.

Shaking his head again, Grey Star lowered his hand. “And third time wrong,” he said.

Puffing his cheeks out in frustration, Banedon threw his hands in the air. “So what _is_ the answer?” he asked.

Grey Star smiled. “I could tell you… but unless you ask the question, the answer will make little sense.”

Banedon raised his eyebrows, looking at Lone Wolf. But the Kai Lord simply nodded, not bothering to hide a small smirk now. “As I said,” he told the wizard. “The key truly is in the question.”

Banedon grimaced. “I despise riddles,” he growled, but obligingly held up his hand. “So. Which finger holds your magic?”

Smiling broadly now, Grey Star raised his own hand again, and wiggled _all_ the fingers, teasingly.

Banedon scowled, clearly feeling that he was being played for the fool – then shock, and understanding, crossed his face. “The finger that holds my magic… would be _my own_ ,” he said in sudden realization. “Not that of another.” Brows drawing down thoughtfully, he tilted his head to the side. “So you mean to say… this is a matter of perception.”

Grey Star nodded. “A matter of perception – and a reminder that _perception matters_ ,” he emphasized. “Would you have found the test so difficult had I asked you to raise your hand as well, or not raised my own? In similar manner – if you were to work a spell by night, only to find to your dismay that the working could only succeed under sunlight, you could curse your vain efforts – or broaden your mind to remember a greater truth: that moonlight is _sunlight reflected_.”

“Is that how you tricked Naar’s spells, then, to make it seem that I escaped?” Lone Wolf asked shrewdly. “By changing perceptions?”

Grey Star blinked, taken aback at the Kai Lord’s insight. Though, in hindsight, perhaps that should not have been so great a surprise. Though Lone Wolf’s Discipline of Camouflage might extend beyond mere mortal senses, at its heart it, too, drew upon a deep understanding of the ways in which the mind perceived the world, and how those perceptions could be deceived. “It was,” he admitted, and then had to laugh. “Strange as it may seem… in a way, that was the easiest trick of all. Once I knew I could count on your aid, all that remained was timing, will, and a touch of… creativity.”

Lone Wolf’s brow arched at that. “Creativity?” he echoed.

Grey Star smiled, although he couldn’t help the sadness that joined the mirth. “I had a friend once – a merchant, Shan.” A friend who would always stand out in his mind, as the first genuinely friendly face he’d met since leaving the Isle of Lorn. Shan’s loquacious good spirits had been welcome company on their long and dangerous journey to the Azanam in search of the Lost Tribe, and he’d never once expressed resentment for the strange quest his impulsive generosity to a quiet youth had drawn him into.

He’d paid a deadly price for that generosity, in the end.

Drawing in a deep breath, Grey Star set the painful memory aside, and focused on merrier ones. “Shan dearly loved jokes.” The worse the jest, the better, so far as the merchant cared – although Tanith’s emphatic annoyance had probably encouraged the preference. “And one of his favorites…” He tilted his head slightly, thinking back. “A thrifty farmer came to a sage with a question. He had been given forty lengths of fence. Any amount of land he could enclose within those fences would be his. What would be the shape that would give him the greatest amount of land?

“The sage laughed. ‘Forty lengths? I can give you the world with four.’ And he took the four lengths of fence, and arranged them in a square around himself. ‘How does _that_ give me the world?’ the angry farmer demanded. The sage laughed, winked, and said, ‘Quite easily, my friend. I simply declare myself to be _outside_ your fence.’”

Banedon burst into laughter. “Oh, a neat trick indeed! I think I understand your meaning now… In the end, you did not change the spells at all. Only what counted as _within_ and _without_ – and in the right light, that is indeed simply a matter of perception.” Calming, he leaned forward. “But how does that relate to your staff?”

“Ah.” Grey Star, forgetting himself, began to shrug – and quickly received a warning tap from Ardim, and a sharper warning twinge from his shoulder. With a wince of apology, he nodded to the dwarf before turning his attention back to Banedon. “That relates to the other side of the lesson of the test. You see your staff as a repository – of power, of spells, of learning. To me…” He hesitated, searching for words. “To me, it is a focus, a way to channel and intensify the power that lives within me. But that power is still my own; as I wield it, the staff grows ever more attuned to the flow of my mind and magic.” He tapped the staff beside him again. “That is why I use wood. Wood is a living thing, meant to channel water and life between roots and leaves. It grows to know me and my power, and channel it the same way.” Lips thinning, he added, “And that is why I dared not leave it in a Darklord’s hands, even before I knew the truth of our enemy.”

Lips thinning grimly, Lone Wolf nodded. “Something so connected to your own essence… I can understand that. Particularly now that we know the extent of our foe’s cunning.” He bent to study the map again, then glanced up. “Which raises a matter that has been concerning me,” he said, directing the words to Banedon and Grey Star both. “I am no mage, but I cannot imagine that the storm we faced was any light spell-casting. Particularly given the limits our foe must work under, to evade the notice of Kai and Ishir. How is it, then, that he knew precisely where to send it, to strike against us?”

Banedon frowned. “To find where the portal carried you would have been a simple task, if the sigil you used was our foe’s own crafting,” he said slowly, as Grey Star offered a reluctant nod of agreement. But the theurgist shook his head in frustration. “But the _Skyrider_ is no weighty river boat to be pulled by a mule, slow and predictable! We were a full day’s sail from the place where we met ere the storm came upon us. And yet we have made no landfall since finding you, nor overflown any settlements…”

“You are certain?” Lone Wolf pressed. “It seems to me a craft such as this would be all too visible from a distance.”

Bandedon huffed slightly. “And which of us has sailed the skies for over six years, on missions both open and secret?” he asked pointedly. “We flew high, so that any from the ground would take us for a distant bird, if indeed they saw us at all, in a cloudless afternoon sky against the sun’s own light. And we skirt the edges of the Great Bor Range here; the only folk who walk these slopes are woodsfolk and shepherds, who say perhaps ten words throughout the summer months, and those only to themselves! Even had someone seen us, they would have none they would care to tell.”

Grey Star swallowed, suddenly remembering that odd sense of dissonance in the wild dance of magic that had wakened him – and Mother Magri’s face suddenly in his mind, when he attempted to reach out with mind and magic to learn how Tanith fared as he rode with the Freedom Guild towards Shasarak. “Perhaps those below may not have a way to contact others… but _we_ do,” he said quietly. “The means you used to contact the Magi of Dessi… can they be traced?”

Banedon paled. “They can,” he confirmed, looking to the box where he’d stowed the communication crystal, having retrieved it with much effort from beneath the tangle of fallen chairs and books where it had rolled during the wild maneuvers of the battle. “In fact, they must be, for the link between the spheres to stabilize.”

Lone Wolf cursed softly, hand closing in a fist. “And Naar is no fool,” he said darkly. “He could hardly have overlooked that our first act upon returning to Magnamund would be to seek to restore the Sommerswerd. The Magi of Dessi are the last keepers of the lore of the Kai Lords. Watch them – and, soon or late, he would have us.”

Grey Star shivered, suddenly and fiercely glad that he had held to his oath and not sought his family for aid. He doubted that the Lord of Darkness was ignorant of the Isle of Lorn and its inhabitants, but so long as Naar had no _proof_ that they had tested the limits of their vow…

His hand tightened slightly on his staff, and he was not certain if it was to seek readiness or reassurance.

Banedon rubbed at the side of his face wearily. “Then we must also assume that he will be watching for us to return to Sommerlund,” he said slowly, “to seek a swordsmith and begin the reforging. I fear our quest may have suddenly become much more difficult, Lone Wolf.”

Putting the contents of his red velvet satchel back in order, Ardim snorted loudly.

“And why would you go to _Sommerlund_ for that,” he said, eyeing the humans as they turned to look at the medic in surprise, “when the greatest smiths of Magnamund live in these very mountains?”

“The dwarves of Bor,” Lone Wolf breathed. “But… I had thought your folk worked in mechanics, not magic…”

Ardim _hrmph_ ed, slapping Grey Star on his uninjured shoulder. “And how do you explain this lad’s recovery, then?” he asked, before casting a rather pointedly caustic look at his captain. “Or the fact that you’re still _breathing_ , after some of your antics.”

Banedon looked stunned. “You use magic? I… never even _noticed_ …”

“Perhaps you would not,” Grey Star admitted. “I have seen the shamans of the Kundi at work, and to this day I _still_ am not certain if what I witnessed was magic or madness.”

Urik had not exactly clarified matters. The old shaman had been wise, knowledgeable in the ways of the forest, and a priceless companion – as much for his simple confidence as his cleverness and wicked boomerang, at times. He’d also been _completely crazy_.

If Grey Star never had to fly across the Azanam dangling from a vine rope lashed to an Ooslo bird’s leg again, he would have _no complaints_.

“But strange as the magic of the Drodarin may be, it has a power of its own,” he said firmly. “And one that Naar, I think, would not anticipate. If Ardim believes the smiths of Bor may help us – I say that we try.”

 

* * *

 

OMAKE:

“There is never a dull moment, is there?” Grey Star asked wryly.

Leaning over the edge of the upper deck, Banedon eyed Lone Wolf. “How long have the two of you known each other, again?”

“Excepting periods of unconsciousness… less than twelve hours,” Lone Wolf admitted.

Banedon blinked. “…is it possible for the world to be both doomed and saved at the same time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A storm cloud should look white when seen from above, on a level, or at a distance, since it’s not fundamentally all that different from any other cloud if it’s not actively blocking out the sun. But this is an Evil Cloud Sent by the Powers of Evil. It’s allowed to be Black and Ominous! (…yes, I have fun with Epic Fantasy tropes. Sometimes realism just has to bow to Rule of Cool.)
> 
> Lone Wolf canon calls the guns used by the dwarves “primitive” – which is a little silly, because within the gameworld, those guns aren’t _primitive_ at all – they’re the only ones! I settled on an arquebus rather than a hand-canon, since arquebuses are one of the first trigger-fired guns.
> 
> Lone Wolf is a rather grim and stoic hero – it’s not until about the eighth book of the series that I managed to catch him actually cracking an honest-to-goodness joke. (There are a few maybe-jokes in the narrative. But even those tend to be subsumed under the Grim Determination.) But there is not a hero born who would claim that punching an invulnerable undead demon in the face and seeing it go, “… _ow_!” is anything other than _really satisfying_.
> 
> The source text is very, _very_ confusing as to whether or not Helghasts are undead or demons. They were supposedly _bred_ by Darklord Vashna, and yet consistently described as undead… best I can guess is, they’re something like the vampires of Buffy-verse; demons who possess corpses. Although given that they’re shapeshifters, they may be more like demons that possess _ghosts_ , and that’s even creepier…)
> 
> Grey Star giving in to the urge to brag just a _bit_ to impress a pretty girl is one of several places in his books that really drive home the fact that he’s only sixteen or seventeen. (In fact, it’s one of the reasons I like him. He has a personality beyond “Chosen One”!) Although, to be fair, given that he’s already been arrested and interrogated – and she’s asking him about his thwarting the interrogation, which his enemies already know about – he doesn’t exactly stand to lose much by the bragging. And bunnies pointed out that, given the sort of mindset Tanith clearly has in the first book, Grey Star’s good nature combined with his obvious power must have been an eye-opener, and likely led to her – otherwise unexplained so far as I know – Heel-Face turn in helping Grey Star escape.
> 
> …that said. Yes, of _course_ Banedon is going to be stunned at what Grey Star can do. Grey Star was raised by demi-gods of magic to fulfill an epic quest, one that started out on the level of Lone Wolf’s first set of adventures and quite possibly ended on a level with the opening Magnakai adventures (given that in the fourth book Grey Star gains access to abilities similar to the Magnakai Disciplines, and that he ended up very briefly facing off against Agarash, who is a level above the Darklords). And he channeled the power of an artifact so great that its creation _is now the zero date for the world’s calendar_. Of course he’s going to boggle the minds of conventional wizards!
> 
> (And there’s support for it in canon, if you look at what he’s capable of versus other magic-users. One example? The Guildstaff of Banedon’s brotherhood is an uber-powerful artifact that has “the power of teleportation,” to the point that Vonotar kidnaps the Guildmaster in an attempt to get the secrets of the staff. Except… Grey Star, using Theurgy, _can teleport on his own_. Granted, Theurgy is a Higher Magic he can only learn after acquiring the Moonstone – but nowhere is it said that he _needs_ the Moonstone to do it, just that it “revealed the secret” to him. And teleporting – across _miles_ , to a destination he’s never even seen, that being Shasarak’s own quarters, costs him… two Willpower points.)
> 
> “Sailed the skies for over six years” – bunnies are assuming here that Banedon had the _Skyrider_ for a while before his fortuitous encounter with Lone Wolf in _Shadows on the Sand_ – if only because he and his crew were running like a smoothly oiled machine in the battle that followed! See “pirate roll” – they must have _practiced_ that one! (No, I didn’t make that maneuver up. Although in the book, he just tilts the ship nearly onto its side, then rights it, rather than a full-out roll.) And the dwarves clearly have absolute confidence in their wizard-captain’s ability to maneuver hairpin turns and narrow alleys.
> 
> And now I am never going to get the mental image of Banedon as a fantasy version of the 2009 Jim Kirk out of my head. _Ow_. Darn it, bunnies…
> 
> Yes, the Kundi (Lost Tribe of Lara) are listed in the _Magnamund Companion_ as being one of the Drodarin races, along with blue-skinned Ogrins, the dwarves of Bor, and the giants of Starn. The latter two noted as being closely related. Don’t ask me how that’s supposed to work…


	7. Chapter 7

Little passed in the halls under the mountains that King Ryvin did not soon hear of. Nor was he slow to respond to that news. The _Skyrider_ had scarcely arrived in Boradon when a messenger arrived from the King’s Hall to investigate why the skyship had returned scarce days after her departure. Learning who now rode with Banedon, the messenger immediately extended a formal invitation on behalf of the king for Lone Wolf and his companions to join him in the King’s Hall.

When he heard their request for a private audience, King Ryvin’s brows drew down. He was no fool, and the implications clearly troubled him. But the dwarf king simply nodded, and quickly made arrangements to meet as soon as his public audiences concluded.

Grey Star did his best to remain in the background as they waited, unsettled by the curious glances cast in their direction from the gathered crowd, clearly wondering what had brought humans to the heart of the Dwarven realm. Most of those glances were directed at the green cloak of Lone Wolf; the tales of the last of the Kai Lords had reached even to Boradon, and there was not a dwarf who did not recognize the legend that walked among them. But some allowed their attention to drift to Grey Star as well, clearly wondering who he was to walk in such company.

Not for the first time, Grey Star wished he had learned the magics of invisibility.

Fortunately, they did not have to wait long. Soon, the open audiences ended, and an attendant was bowing to them and directing them towards a smaller room to the side of the great hall.

There they found King Ryvin already awaiting them, back turned to the door as he gazed into the fire roaring in the hearth, casting golden-orange light across the intricate stonework of the walls. The dwarves clearly loved texture as much as color; the walls had been buffed to a smooth matte finish that was almost soft to the touch, the better to offset the brightly polished curls of panel-like decorations along the bases of the walls, occasionally running up the walls like glossy shadows of trees to merge with matching panels at the join of wall and ceiling. Here and there Grey Star could make out the wink and glitter of inset gems and precious metal inlays, as though the stars themselves were peeking coyly through the matrix of the stone to watch over them.

“You are far from the green forests of your Fryelund, Kai Lord,” the king said without turning, “and far from Sommerlund herself. What brings you to the halls of Bor, when we have had no notice of your coming?”

“Dire need, I fear, and a plea for aid.” Stepping forward, Lone Wolf bowed deeply.

Now King Ryvin did turn. His full beard was shot through with a mixture of red-brown and snow-silver strands, pulled into a pair of braids held closed with gold beads. Although his garb was rich in color, velvet lined with a brocade that glimmered with hints of cloth-of-gold offset by gems, the cut of it was basic and simple, meant to allow him to move briskly and freely at need, and there were scuff marks on the toes and heels of his heavy leather boots. He wore armor as well, a chest plate and shoulder guards so finely worked that they might have been taken for ornamental, if not for the plain and clearly well-used axe sheathed at his side.

The dwarves of Bor lived in the shadows under the mountains, and they knew the less wholesome beings who shared their realm very well indeed.

The king studied the three humans thoughtfully, dark eyes sharp. Banedon he acknowledged with a simple nod, clearly familiar with the wizard from previous visits. Grey Star warranted a much longer pause, as those eyes settled on his grey robes with a flicker of something that might have been surprise, and he found himself fighting the urge to step back and away from that searching gaze.

But it was on Lone Wolf’s face that Ryvin’s eyes finally settled, and at length the dwarf king nodded, gesturing to the heavy table of dark wood that stood in the center of the room, three chairs of human proportions already arrayed around it. “Sit, then, and tell me your tale in full. I sense it is a long one.”

“Long, and dark,” Lone Wolf agreed grimly, settling into the chair opposite the king and leaving Banedon and Grey Star to each claim one of the side seats. This, it seemed, was meant as a meeting of equals of a sort.

King Ryvin listened quietly, save for a startled curse when Lone Wolf revealed the plight of the Sommerswerd. Darkness clouded the dwarf’s features as Lone Wolf went on, explaining all that had happened since their escape, their suspicions regarding the nature of their enemy – and the counsel of the Elder Magi of Dessi, and Ardim’s unexpected advice.

Face troubled, the king settled back in his chair, fingers playing with the beaded ends of his braided beard. “Grave news indeed,” he mused, and looked at Lone Wolf. “In truth, I do not know how much we can aid you, Kai Lord. Few still learn the ways of the spell-smith; that art was ancient long before you Sommlendings first came to this land. And the greatest of our spell-smiths has not laid hand to forge for many a year.” He shook his head. “But if any _could_ reforge the summer blade… take your request to her. Perhaps she will answer it.”

“She?” Lone Wolf echoed, a momentary flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Under the beard, Grey Star could make out a hint of crooked smile. “Ah yes. You humans usually set your men to forge-work. Among our people, it is usually the women who choose that path. Only they have the strength of heart and will and body to learn the ways of the spell-smith. And of them all, Spell-Smith Tasilde stands as a master worthy of the great smiths of old. If any in this world still has the skill and power to remake this broken blade, it is she.”

Banedon breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “How long will it take to call her here?” he asked.

King Ryvin’s eyebrows rose. “I think perhaps you do not quite understand,” he said, clearly amused, as he rose from his chair. “One does not _summon_ a spell-smith.”

Going to the door, he opened it and exchanged a few brief words with the dwarf waiting outside, before returning, the guard by his shoulder.

“This is Vagel. He is captain of my Royal War-Thanes, and of all my men the most trusted,” Ryvin said, as the newcomer bowed, the hair of his head and beard gleaming red, like a flame that had strayed from the hearth. “He has heard what we have said here today, and will speak of it to none save by your leave or mine. He will guide you to the home of Spell-Smith Tasilde. May the favor of Ishir go with you.”

Rising, they all bowed to the king in thanks and farewell, and then turned and followed the captain as he led them from the King’s Hall and back into the wider expanses of Boradon.

Grey Star took care to follow close behind the other three, not certain what he would do if he lost them in the crush. As such, he barely managed to catch more than glimpses of the great vaulting chambers and fluted columns of intricate stonework that made the dwarven city a thing of legend all its own. Boradon was a vast realm, bustling with the busy industry of dwarves going about their daily round, many with no more time for more than a brief, curious glance at the humans in their midst as they passed by.

Save for Suhn, which he had entered by night and escaped ere sunrise, he had never seen the like. He had always avoided large cities after Shasarak’s fall; too many people knew of him, and his presence would incite an uproar as they rushed in to see their hero with their own eyes. And he’d been _busy_ , dealing with what remained of Shasarak’s magics throughout the empire the renegade had built of blood and bone and malice.

To his surprise, rather than leading them deeper into the underground city, Vagel led them away, towards the outer slopes. Grey Star breathed a little easier as he felt the evening wind against his face and saw the first stars beginning to glimmer in the twilight blue of the sky. The city of Boradon covered the exterior of the mountain as well as threading through its interior – but here, there were no endless stone walls to bounce back the tread and chatter of a thousand feet and voices. And the work was more familiar, as well; wood-workers and builders, small market areas for goods whose vendors, for one reason or another, did not care to carry into the inner halls.

And soon they had left even that behind, following a small footpath down and away from the bustling activity, until finally it ended at a small hut carved from an outcrop of the living stone itself beside a small rill, part of the water diverted to cascade down the slats of a slowly revolving waterwheel.

To Grey Star’s surprise, Vagel opened the door and entered with neither hesitation nor knock. “The spell-smith often receives visitors in this room,” he said, stepping down onto a smooth floor. “We can await her here; she will come when her current business, whatever it may be, is finished.” And indeed, there was a small table, with a few chairs scattered haphazardly about it, as though the owner saw little point in putting them back in order. A soft susurration drew Grey Star’s attention to the hearth and its low-burning fire, where he found a tall kettle hanging from an iron hook, slightly offset from the fire so that the water inside would stay warm without boiling over.

Shrugging, Banedon selected one of the chairs, sitting with a sigh of relief – the room was built to a dwarven scale, and although the ceiling was high enough for a human to stand comfortably, Banedon seemed to find the low stone over his head disconcerting. As did Lone Wolf; the Kai Lord’s eyes flickered upwards every moment or two, likely uneasy at the thought of how such a low ceiling would restrict his ability to fight.

“Did it seem to you that the king was rather in awe of this smith?” Banedon commented, as Lone Wolf paced slowly.

Vagel chuckled. “You would find none in Boradon who are not. Though King Ryvin has better cause than most. It is our custom that young ones of the royal line test their hands at the great crafts, to understand better those they will one day rule. Prince Ryvin came to this forge as a student – and left it as the betrothed of no other than the master’s eldest daughter!”

Banedon laughed. “Ah, the dreaded mother by law! Small wonder he sent his captain of the guard, rather than coming himself!”

“And what does that youngster send me this time?”

The voice was crisp, slightly roughened by age or smoke or both. Turning, Grey Star blinked as a dwarf woman emerged from a door in the side of the room, glimpsing a hint of stairs leading downward before she pulled it closed behind her. Her hair was snow-white, pulled back in a simple braid, and her face was less lined than it was iron-cast, as though the metal she worked had become part of her very flesh and bone. But her eyes were sharp and piercing as she studied them.

“Well?” she asked, irony clear. “What is it? More hotheads with stars in their eyes and clubs for thumbs? Or are you looking for some kingly gift to give, a silly sword to match a silly crown?”

“A sword restored,” Lone Wolf said, quiet and firm.

The smith snorted. “What did you do? Stab it into a rock?”

Vagel coughed, the fiery dwarf clearly caught between his respect for the spell-smith and his regard for her guests. “Master Tasilde. Let me present…”

He was cut off by a sharply upheld hand as the dwarf woman stepped forward, eyes fixed on Lone Wolf’s as though they stood at equal height, though the top of her head would barely brush the bottom of the Kai Lord’s rib cage. The irascible frown on her face shifted, deepening as the seconds ticked by.

Then, to Grey Star’s shock, she turned and looked at him.

For a long minute of uncountable heartbeats, she simply studied him, the piercing gaze of her eyes putting that of the king to shame. Grey Star suddenly found himself wishing that he were once more in Shasarak’s Hall of Correction, facing Mother Magri and her Kazim Stone. Dire though his situation had been in that nerve-wracking moment, at least his choices had stood clearly before him. He had no idea how he should respond to this measuring gaze.

Then the smith suddenly turned back to Lone Wolf, holding out a hand. “Show me the shards,” she said shortly.

Now it was Lone Wolf’s turn to study her, long and thoughtfully. But at length he nodded and pulled the pack from his shoulders, opening it to carefully draw out the shards of the Sommerswerd, still wrapped in Grey Star’s spare shirt – they had not dared shift them to loftier wrappings, for fear of losing some small piece forever.

Taking it in her hands, Tasilde turned away, setting the bundle carefully on the table before unwrapping it to reveal the gleaming shards, some still webbed with hairline cracks through the heart of the metal.

Grey Star did not doubt that she recognized the Sommerswerd. He did not think _he_ could mistake the blade for anything else, even shattered in form and broken in magic as it lay now. But she showed no reaction, simply crossing her arms to study the shards. Nor did she react as Lone Wolf quietly repeated the tale, save to wave impatiently at him when he hesitated to describe the moment the blade shattered; _yes, yes, stop wasting time_. She simply stood, still gazing on the fragments, as Lone Wolf’s voice quieted, leaving in its wake nothing save silence and the crackle of the fire. Grey Star was not certain any of them were even _breathing_.

When she did move, it was to reach into a pocket of her tunic and withdraw a roll of leather that she unfurled on the table, revealing a selection of tools as delicate as any found in the hands of a worker of gems and jewelry.

Then she began her inspection.

Tiny hammer in hand, she tapped each fragment in turn, holding them by her ear to listen to the ring of the metal. She ran her fingers along the places where blood still rested on the shards, now rust-brown and flaking under her fingers – Lone Wolf had either not thought to clean it from the pieces, or feared that to do so would only wreak further damage. She withdrew a cylinder set with lenses of ground glass from a case and held it to her eye as she bent to inspect the remains of tang and edge, grip and guard. Taking a section of the blade free of the hairline fractures, she flexed it between her fingers, held it under her nose and inhaled deeply – even extended her tongue and touched the tip of it lightly to the flat of the blade.

Banedon shifted in his seat. “What is she _doing_?” he murmured at length. “I sense no magic, and yet…”

Grey Star couldn’t help a smile. “Thus far, she has neither hooted like a lunatic, nor twirled in circles, nor fallen down twitching,” he replied wryly, remembering the ceremony by which Urik had found the location of the Shadow Gate. “It could be far worse.”

Nor could he deny that he was fascinated. Like Banedon, he sensed no form of magic at work – and yet, unmistakably, he was watching a master of her craft at work, every movement purposeful and knowing, although he would be hard-pressed to imagine a starker contrast to the wild, flamboyant chaos of the Kundi ceremony. The grave respect and attention on Vagel’s face was no different from that of the Kundi who had gathered to watch Urik.

Finally, however, Tasilde nodded slowly, returning her tools to their case and tucking it back into her pocket. Without a word, she rose from the table and walked to the fire, now only embers. Taking an iron poker in hand, she stirred the coals, and added a log. And then she simply stood, staring into the flames as they began to flicker and then burn, flowing in the hot currents of air in the fireplace in streams of blazing yellow and orange light.

“Can the blade be restored?” Lone Wolf finally asked. His voice was quiet, but his hands were white-knuckled fists by his side.

The smith snorted.

“ _Restored_?” she echoed. “One does not _restore_ a blade to what it once was. A sword once broken must be forged anew.” She turned sharply. “Blades break for a reason, boy. Because something in them was too _brittle_.” A strong finger jabbed at the table, and the shards gleaming in the firelight. “That blade understood victory alone! Sacrifice, endurance – the strength to _flex_ , to lose and yet carry on, they were not part of its mettle, its matrix!”

She leaned forward, eyes glinting as bright as the steel. “ _I will make them so_.”

Lone Wolf released a breath that shook. “Then you will do it.”

She nodded briskly. “I will. But I warn you, this will not be an easy task.” She turned to Vagel. “The crafting will require a stock of korlinium and iron. The shards can be melted and reforged, but they will need new strength.”

Vagel nodded sharply. “They will be here within the hour.”

“Good. But there is one more item we will need. The blade requires a Sun-crystal.”

Banedon drew in a sharp breath. “A Sun-crystal,” he breathed. “Those are rare indeed. I am not certain more than ten still remain…” Voice trailing off, he was silent for a long moment. Then his eyes sharpened. “But if any would know where such could be found, it will be the Elder Magi. I will contact them as soon as we are finished here.” He glanced at Grey Star with a rueful smile. “And this time, I will take care that none may trace my message. It may take longer, but our enemy will not learn our plans through me again!”

“See that he does not,” Master Tasilde said dryly. “Interruptions would hinder the process greatly.” She nodded briskly. “Good. But there is one more thing. The Sun-crystal’s power is necessary – but it is not _sufficient_. The forging of this blade can only be done using sun _fire_.”

And she looked directly at Grey Star.

Taken aback, he closed his eyes, thinking.

_Sun’s fire. That wielded only by elementals linked to the sun itself. Enemy of darkness even if that means burning through all else in its path; the source of burning heat and thirst and despair and yet also the warmth of life itself…_

He opened his eyes.

“I can give you that,” he said quietly, and tried not to meet the startled looks that the other three in the room cast at him.

The smith nodded again. “Then when the pieces are in place, we shall begin,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lone Wolf asked. His hands had eased slightly, but now they flexed restlessly, as though he longed to grip _something_.

Tasilde smirked. “Indeed there is. _You_ are to go to the leatherworkers, and have them fit you with an apron.”

Lone Wolf blinked.

She jabbed a finger at him. “I will need an assistant, and I have no apprentice I’d care to call upon for this task. This blade is meant for _you_ , and so you will have a hand in making it. Count yourself lucky, pup – you will be a party to an art few men – let alone a human! – have ever witnessed.”

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

_I never truly realized how much went into the crafting of even the simplest of blades_.

Lone Wolf settled himself on the small stool near the forge, weary in mind if not in body. Tasilde had forbade him to work the day before, commanding him to store up his strength for the forging to come. But in the days leading to this point – for nearly two weeks had passed since their arrival in Boradon – the spell-smith had worked him mercilessly, teaching him the bare basics of a smith’s craft. The strength of a sword, he’d learned, required two key elements – but therein lay the problem, for those elements were diametrically opposed to each other.

“A sword must be hard, to hold an edge and stand true as it cuts,” she’d told him. “Craft a blade of glass, and it will have an edge so fine and sharp that it could cut the eyelashes from the wind, or the dust from the wings of a butterfly.” And she’d shown him such a blade, a sliver of black volcanic glass that gleamed in the sunlight, its edge made not by smithcraft but by striking long, curving flakes from its surface, so thin as to be translucent, the edge itself near invisible. So sharp had been that edge that he’d cut his finger handling it – and not even noticed until the bright red of blood caught his eye.

Then Tasilde had shrugged contemptuously and dropped it to the stones, where black glass had shattered into mere shards. “But craft a blade of glass, and it will fall into a thousand pieces the first blow it strikes,” she said bluntly, dusting the slivers out of the path. “Hardness brings brittleness as its handmaiden. Never forget that.” A nod to the shards of the Sommerswerd, resting in its forge. “That was the problem with your blade, though the brittleness lodged in its magic and not its structure. You know blades, boy, though you’ve never thought hard on their nature. A true sword must have the flex to absorb the shock of impact anywhere along its length. The strength of the willow, to bend and return to itself unwarped – not the oak that defies the wind until it cracks!”

“But a blade that yields to any impact…” he’d begun to protest – and stopped at the spell-smith’s smirk.

“And now you begin to glimpse the swordsmith’s dilemma,” she’d said drily. “Craft a blade that bows and bends to any strike, and it’ll never break. But you’d be lucky to cut butter with it! And it’d be piss-poor at blocking blows, for that matter.”

That, then, was the essence of the challenge – a blade with an edge that could cut any foe, but a core that would withstand even the heaviest blow. One that would not shatter, but also would not bend.

Tasilde had set him to speak with the swordsmiths of Boradon, learning all the ways that such a challenge could be surmounted. And then, scarcely two days ago, she had set him to forge a sword for himself.

A full day, of trial and error and effort, of sweat and exhaustion, of fire and earth and steel – and when it had been over, he’d only been able to stare at his result in a kind of dull dismay, too weary to even be disappointed.

The apprentice smith who’d guided his forging had at least _tried_ to hide his grin, and judged the effort, “good enough – considering.”

“They do not expect you to master the art,” Grey Star pointed out, when Lone Wolf nearly yielded to despairing frustration. “That task rightfully belongs to one who has devoted their life to it. But any artisan should _understand_ their tools, even if they have not the skill to make them. You are a warrior. The sword is your trade; you should know the heart of its making.” His lips quirked. “If nothing else, this experience has given you some understanding of the assistance Master Tasilde will require, when the time comes.”

“There is that,” Lone Wolf had agreed reluctantly.

Nor had his elementary lessons in the craft of swordsmithing been limited to that single, disastrous effort. A sword was more than a mere blade; in company with Master Tasilde, he had visited each of the cutlers of Boradon – the craftsfolk who would fashion the hilt, and affix it to the blade when the time came.

Master Tasilde had laughed when he’d asked if they would restore the original hilt of the Sommerswerd. “Do you think a hilt is some fashionable bauble, to be swapped for a new one whenever some young fop decides he would like to change his shoes?” she’d demanded. “This is a new blade, forged of new experience. To tie it to the old would be to bind it, to limit it, when we wish it to grow – to be _more_ than it once was.” Then she’d pursed her lips, caught in a rare moment of quiet, thoughtful contemplation. “Normally, the hilt would only be crafted when the blade itself was finished, so that it might be fitted perfectly _to_ that blade,” she’d mused. “But… I think that will not be needed, this time. I know what I seek.”

And so they’d gone from craftsman to craftsman, Tasilde pouring over their work as each fidgeted uneasily, knowing they were being tested but not knowing the criteria by which she judged them. Some received contemptuous huffs, others a long pause of consideration before at last she shook her head. Only when they came to the workshop of the cutler who crafted hilts for the king’s War-Thanes did her eyes light.

“Here is one who knows what it means to craft a weapon that will be _used_ ,” she’d said, pleased.

But their quest had not yet been finished, for the material of the grip itself had been a matter of some concern. The basic core would be firm wood. But at first, Tasilde had flatly rejected any of the classic wrappings of leather.

“I mean this blade to understand the strength to overcome loss,” she’d snapped. “But to wrap it in _death_ is another matter entirely!”

The solution had come unexpectedly – for when Banedon came to them, bearing the radiant golden Sun-crystal, he brought with him a piece of something akin to leather – but shimmering gold-and-amber, nearly translucent, folded in a small chest of ancient wood.

“According to Master Rimoah, it is a fragment of the scales of Nyxator himself,” the wizard said quietly, “recovered from Helgedaad long ago, and kept safe by the Elder Magi since.”

Lone Wolf had stared at the shimmering skin in awe – a remnant of the first follower of Kai, the creator of the Lorestones. His ancestor-in-spirit, in a way, though the great dragon had fallen at Agarash’s hands many millennia before Sun Eagle embarked on his quest.

Tasilde had simply glanced in the box and nodded briskly. “It will do,” she’d said.

But the heart of the Sommerswerd was its blade, and to that, Tasilde had turned her own hand. Again and again, she’d crafted simple blanks of plain steel, giving them over to Lone Wolf for testing. Sometimes the mismatch was clearly wrong, and she’d snatched it out of his hand again before he ever lifted it. Others, he had thought might do, but after a long moment she had shaken her head and taken them back, as well, the glint in her eyes seeming a little brighter with every failure.

Then, a week ago, she’d set one in his hand, and he’d simply stared at it.

She’d chuckled. “That’s that, then.”

He’d shaken his head, but in wonder, not disagreement, as he moved the plain blade through a few simple exercises. This was nothing more than a mock-up, quickly hilted, not a true blade – but he could _feel_ something familiar in the heft, the balance, the way it fit less as an extension of his arm and more as a part of it he’d always missed.

That one, they’d sent to the cutler, that she might have the beginning of the hilt ready when the true blade was completed.

Even then, the preparations were not yet done.

“Korlinium and iron,” she’d murmured, as he’d stoked the forges. “Korlinium for the edge, and for lightness – but not too much, for what good is a sword with no _heft_ , no momentum behind its swing? Iron for blood, and strength, weight and endurance. Braided together, so that their strengths each offset the other – and bonded with the steel of your lost blade, melted down and ready to be made new. Then folded, and hammered – and we are ready to begin.”

Watching the shards of the Sommerswerd melt had almost been beyond Lone Wolf’s ability to bear.

The rods lay ready now, shimmering as the low light played over the intricate patterns of the mixed metal, the layers of metal forge-welded, drawn into rods, and twisted, ready for the final forging.

Lone Wolf wondered if he’d feared anything so much as those simple rods. Even the hard road from the broken Monastery to Holmgard seemed to pale before the trial that he knew was to come.

And soon. Grey Star was outside even now, meditating in the light of the rising sun as he prepared his spells. The wizard had had little part to play in the preparations for the sword – but he’d accompanied Lone Wolf and Tasilde nevertheless, a quiet shadow in the corner listening to the lessons and even trying his own hand at a bit of smithing, once Ardim finally yielded and allowed him to remove the sling. To results at least as laughable as Lone Wolf’s own.

Lone Wolf had expected the dwarves to object; what place had a wizard in the forge? But they’d simply shrugged, accepting his presence. And Tasilde treated Grey Star with an odd respect, a level of regard she seemed to grant to no one else. Not even her king.

“I have noticed it, as well,” Grey Star had admitted, when Lone Wolf asked. “But I do not know her reasons. If I did, perhaps it would not unsettle me so.” Then the troubled shadow in grey eyes had yielded to a glint of puckish amusement. “But perhaps it is merely a difference in station. After all, I am here as a collaborator, a master of my own craft lending aid – not a foolish assistant who must be hammered into shape!”

To which Lone Wolf had only been able to laugh ruefully. But he’d found himself looking at that conversation in a different light, later. For it was not the first time, he suddenly realized, that Grey Star had neatly dodged the question of _who he was_.

Lone Wolf trusted him; Grey Star had proven himself a fierce and loyal companion, both wise and skilled beyond his years. But the young man held some secret close.

Banedon had little insight to give, though Lone Wolf had asked.

“Why would she ask Grey Star to summon the sunfire, and not me?” The theurgist had shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand how Master Tasilde practices her craft. And yet… I think she made the right choice.”

“He is that powerful?” Lone Wolf asked, surprised.

“It is not a matter of power, not truly. In this, what matters is skill. Recall the wind-serpent he summoned.” Banedon had paused then, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “Oddly, though… of all I have seen our young friend do, what struck me the most was the dowsing.”

Lone Wolf had raised his brows. “I thought that was simple hedgewitchery.”

“The form I know is,” Banedon agreed. “But he made it into something more. And that was no simple magic.” Banedon frowned. “It is difficult to explain, to one who does not practice the art… I think I could have done as he did. But it would have taken many spells, and careful preparation. It is as though…” He’d looked at the mock-sword in Lone Wolf’s hand. “Had the magic been an opponent – I would have needed to feint, to strike and give way, and wear my enemy down. But Grey Star simply struck to the heart, with one pure, precise, _simple_ blow. And he made it look _easy_.” He’d shaken his head. “To do that at his age… he does not _cast_ magic, Lone Wolf. He _lives_ it. The magic is not a tool to him – it is part of who he is, as much as your Disciplines are to you.”

A strange thought – and one that would have to be set aside for now. Lone Wolf drew in a slow breath, as Tasilde emerged from the forge, where she’d been making her final preparations, and began climbing the slope to where the young wizard sat. The time of truth, it seemed, had come.

_Kai watch over us_.

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

The warmth of the rising sun soaked into his face, the light painting the inside of his eyelids the color of blood and fire. Over the soft _shush_ ing of the wind and the murmur of the little rill as it turned the wheel attached to the spell-smith’s little forge, leather-shod feet scuffed on stone, to pause beside him.

“Few remember the lore of the ancient days, even among my own people,” Tasilde said, voice slow and measured and thoughtful. “But the spell-smiths of Boradon have not forgotten the Grey Wanderers.”

Half-risen from his cross-legged position, Grey Star froze.

“Easy, lad. Breathe.” A strong hand gripped his shoulder, stabilizing him when his unbalanced position nearly sent him tumbling headlong over the edge of the outcropping. The spell-smith’s gaze met and held his, level and knowing. “I’ve no intent to pry into how a human stripling came to bear their marks. The spell-smiths remember the crafting we once shared – and why our partnership came to an end.”

Grey Star tried to swallow, but found his mouth bone-dry. “They have not broken their oath,” he said quietly. It seemed the only thing he _could_ say, in the face of that level gaze.

Pursing her lips, Tasilde nodded. “So they have not, through the turning of the ages of the world.”

Slowly, Grey Star straightened, as blind, near-panicked surprise yielded to curiosity. “They worked with your people once?” he asked.

“In smithcraft and spellcraft.” Tasilde nodded. “From them, we learned the ways of drawing the magic of the spheres into our forging – and to them, we taught the ways of finding the magic _within_ the forge. Until Ishir’s edict.” She huffed softly. “There are those of us who think the less of Ishir for it.”

Startled all over again, Grey Star stared at her.

Tasilde snorted. “ _Never to interfere with mankind’s fate_ , she asked of them. _Never_ is a very long time indeed.” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking out over the forested slopes beneath Boradon, and the sun peeking out between the towering peaks on the other side of the valley. “They did not fit the gods’ design, and so the gods would have cast them out entirely. Sometimes I wonder what that will mean for my own children’s children, if the day ever comes when there is no longer a place for _them_ in the great games of the gods.” Her gaze shifted downwards, to the figure resting outside the forge. “Makes me worry for the pup down there.”

“Worry?” Grey Star echoed quietly.

“He lives with the eyes of the gods always set on him. That’s a place that few would envy, and fewer still understand.” Steel-dark eyes slid sideways, to regard him thoughtfully once more. “Though I suspect you know the weight of it yourself, and far too well at that.”

“What do you mean?” Grey Star asked, feeling his hand tighten on his staff slightly in unease.

Tasilde snorted. “When the last of the Sun-lords and a human lad wrapped in the magic of the moon stand at my doorstep with a shattered sword? I’m an old woman. I know the sound of destiny’s knock.”

Grey Star felt his breath catch. His foster-family had raised him in the shadow of Ishir’s wrath. _Knowing_ what their skirting of their vow might cost them: banishment from the world that had become their home, condemned to once more wander the dimensions, homeless and adrift. But they had watched, helpless to act, as Shasarak’s power and malevolence grew, practically at their very doorstep. Until…

“ _The night of Shasarak’s coronation, there was a great storm – greater than the Isle had ever known. We thought it truly an omen of despair. But then came the morning – and with it, for the first time in all our millennia of isolation, the shattered remnants of a ship, washed up on our shores rather than dragged down into the depths._ ”

And on that ship, impossibly, a single survivor. A _hope_.

Tasilde waved an abrupt hand, as though brushing away the words as she would an annoying cobweb. “Now the pieces are in place. The forge stands ready, the metal is prepared, and the pup knows as much as he’s going to learn in the time I have to hammer into him.” She looked significantly at Grey Star. “All that remains is the fire.”

Still shaken, Grey Star had to close his eyes again and breathe deeply to steady himself, before he reached out with his magic.

This was far harder than any elemental magic he’d ever attempted in the past. Always before, he had cast his call to the realms, and let the magic and the elements choose their response. Never before had he sought the aid of one entity in particular.

But this one, so long lost and forgotten, knew his magic, and remembered him… if not with fondness, exactly, then at least as an ally against the encroaching darkness. For it also remembered his enemy.

He sent his question – and felt flame flicker at the edges of his mind, fierce and burning against the dark.

_Yes_.

“You will have it,” he said quietly.

Tasilde smiled slightly, nodding in satisfaction. “Good.” Then she sobered, her gaze once more meeting and holding his eyes. “But I’ve one more request to make of you.”

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

“ _What?!_ ”

The angry shout brought Lone Wolf turning sharply about, reflex dropping him into a low stance, ready to spring to fight or defend or flee, before he realized the sudden sound was no attack

On the ridge above, Grey Star and Tasilde were arguing, fierce and low. The young wizard was gesturing furiously, eyes flashing with a deeply uncharacteristic _anger_ that all but crackled in the air around him, like a storm about to break on the open sea. And Tasilde… Tasilde was the mountain in that storm, rooted and unmoving.

Back and forth the argument went, Grey Star impassioned, almost _desperate_ , Tasilde resolute, unrelenting as the stone under her feet. At last, Grey Star made one last, fierce plea, hand sweeping out wide in a gesture that was half defiance, half _pleading_ …

And Tasilde simply nodded once, shortly, lips forming words that, from where he stood below, Lone Wolf could just barely read.

“ _I know_.”

For a long moment, silence echoed over the mountainside as Grey Star stared at Tasilde, seemingly at a loss for words.

Then the young wizard suddenly turned on his heel and stormed away, disappearing down the trail. Shaking her head, Tasilde turned as well, and descended to the yard of the forge.

“Stoke the fires,” she told Lone Wolf, when she saw him standing in the yard. “When the sun rises tomorrow, you will have your blade.”

Lone Wolf could not help but hesitate. “But…” he began, glancing up at the trail where Grey Star had gone, the wizard now lost from sight. Tasilde had always made it clear that when the time came for the final forging, no mortal fire would serve.

“He will return,” she said quietly. “He knows what is at stake this day.” She leveled a long, thoughtful look at him – and if the weapons she once had crafted had ever borne half the cutting edge of those eyes, then she truly deserved the regard with which the people of Boradon viewed her. “And when our task is over – see to him. His spirit has steel, but the tempering he faces today will test that steel to its limits.”

Never once did her voice falter. Nor was there so much as a flicker of her rightfully feared caustic temper and wit. Lone Wolf had learned to respect the edge of her tongue; its absence raised all the hairs on the back of his neck, and cast a chill into his heart.

Slowly, he nodded, and followed her into the shadows of the forge.

First, she set him to binding the long rods together. Over the weeks, they had prepared these – first melting down the shards of the shattered Sommerswerd into a thin, flat strip, one that was then cut and layered into blocks alongside similar sheets of korlinium and steel. Each of these blocks they had then melted until each strip of metal became as one with that beside it and became a single block of variegated metal – billets, in the language of smiths. And then they had cast each billet into the forge and hammered, again and again, seemingly endlessly, until they had not blocks but long rods, not unlike the drawing out of wire. Rods they then heated yet again, and twisted, and once again drawn.

Now Tasilde went through each of those rods, testing the metal in her own manner before handing it to him and instructing him as to its placement. After his lessons in smithcraft, Lone Wolf found he could grasp, if only slightly, the logic in her choices – the bright gleam of korlinium at the edges, shading to the deeper, heavier, softer steel at the heart of the blade. Even so, he found himself eyeing the result uncertainly – a heavy, inelegant row of rods, five across and nearly the thickness of his smallest finger each, held together only by the binding clamps.

He had seen such bundles in the forges of the smiths, watched them turn into the graceful, deadly gleam of a true blade. But looking at the ugly collection of metal in front of him, he found it hard to imagine that it might become anything like the shining Sommerswerd.

Tasilde, however, studied the assemblage as he tightened the clamp that would hold the rods aligned. “It will do,” she said – and then added, unexpectedly, “It will do very well, indeed.” She nodded to the open forge-fire. “Let us begin.”

As she spoke, the door to the forge opened quietly, and Grey Star stepped inside. Lips pressed into a thin, silent line, the young wizard settled onto a low bench set out of the way in a corner of the workshop without a word, hands lightly laid atop each other and the tips of his thumbs barely touching in a posture Lone Wolf recognized as a light meditative trance as grey eyes stared glittering into the flames of the fire.

Lone Wolf glanced at him, wondering – but it was clear the younger man did not mean to speak.

At Tasilde’s impatient gesture, Lone Wolf breathed a prayer to Kai. Then he lifted the bound bars and slid them into the forge.

They began with light taps along the edge of the forming bar; slow, careful, returning it often to the fire until once again the metal glowed sunset orange. Tasilde tolerated no impatience; this was, she’d warned Lone Wolf, one of the most delicate points of the process, as heat and hammer coaxed five separate strands of metal to wed into a single whole. A mistake here could spell disaster for the blade to come, by distorting the arrangement of the pieces, or failing to bond them completely, leaving a fatal weakness in its heart. She used no heavy blows; the hammer came down almost gently, as though she were trying not to crack the shell of an egg. Nor did she ever once call for Lone Wolf to spell her, although he had wielded the hammer himself earlier, as they’d prepared the rods. Now his only task was to hold the metal steady, turning it at her call to present the other edge, or one of the flat widths. No sparks flew, though he’d half-expected them – that, she’d taught him, was the sign of unready metal, steel that had not been fully cleansed of the impurities in its matrix. Up and down the length of the blade she hammered – first one half, then the other. Then, at last, they allowed the metal to cool, and removed the restraining band, and repeated the process now in its very heart.

Now hints of true shape appeared – the divots marking the beginning of the tang, where the blade would taper to join with the hilt; the long taper down the length of the sword to join the almost delicate-seeming point that would stab smoothly and lethally through the links of an enemy’s chainmail.

Tasilde stepped back, and Lone Wolf suddenly realized that hours had passed – though how many, he did not truly realize, until he stepped out to draw a breath of clear mountain air and drink from the rill, and found that the sun had crossed the sky. The slopes of Boradon loomed dark and heavy above them, black against the slowly darkening evening sky.

“Leave the door open, pup,” Tasilde said absently when he returned. “You two will want the air.”

Lone Wolf shook his head, not bothering to object to the nickname anymore – protest had never done anything to change it, and he’d grown accustomed. Instead, he looked down at the length of metal lying across the anvil.

Dark, blackened from the fire, pocked in places from hammerblows and oddly _thick_ , particularly where the welding taps had flattened the edges slightly. And yet…

For the first time, he found that he looked at it, and saw a _blade_.

Tasilde was studying it as well, eyes thoughtful. Then she looked up, and met Grey Star’s flat, expressionless stare.

“It’s time, lad,” she said quietly. Almost gently.

Grey Star’s face seemed oddly pale in the forgelight, his expression unreadable. But he nodded, short and sharp, and only once.

And the flames of the forge roared free.

Whipping and weaving about themselves, red and orange burned brighter, yellow and white and blue and something _beyond_ blue, and two white blazes like eyes burning with _knowledge_ in its heart…

With a shock, Lone Wolf realized, in that heartbeat, that he _knew_ this creature.

_A guardian, Grey Star called it_ , he thought in wonder, meeting that blazing stare. _Guardian of a world that lost all life, save one last, burning flame…_

Then flame gathered, and leapt.

Not to the coals. Not to the forge. Not to the anvil. Not even to the blade.

Whirling sunfire poured into _Tasilde_ , and the dwarf became a figure of flame.

“ _Take up the tongs, pup_ ,” she said, and even her _voice_ was fire, something that both was and was far more than the spell-smith he knew.

He could no more resist that voice than he might the voice of Kai himself. Grabbing the tongs to grip the forming blade once more, he moved it into place, though the metal had by now gone dark and cold and there was no longer a forge-fire to reheat it-

The blazing hammer came down, and fire sheeted across the sword, leaving it glowing red in the wake of the blow.

“ _Turn it_.”

He turned. The hammer struck.

“ _Turn_.”

His world narrowed to the heat beating on face and arms and chest, the dark and the flashes of flame and the glow of hot metal, and the voice of fire, as the base of the blade thinned and lengthened into the tang of a long hilt meant to be wielded either with two hands or one, and the squared edges took on the beveled slope of a blade, and the tip narrowed and thinned to a piercing point. The fulling hammer was in his hand the moment it was demanded of him, and the long groove took its place down the heart of the blade, strengthening it at the same time that it lightened the weight.

Time ceased to bear any meaning, as the fire of a lost sun washed over the blade again and again. Just breathing, and Tasilde’s burning commands, as he struggled to keep aching arms moving and yet couldn’t do anything _but_ keep moving, and watched in awe as the blade was born.

Then a last, ringing blow, and his world became nothing _but_ fire.

Blinking in the shadows of the forge, dazed and confused by the sudden darkness after so much fire and light, Lone Wolf stood frozen. Slowly, vision returned to him – and he suddenly realized that the strange, pale light by which he saw now was the morning sun, risen over the eastern mountains, the rays passing through the open door of the forge to lightly brush the gleaming silver blade that lay across the forge with the rose-gold light of dawn.

Of Tasilde, all that remained was the hammer, handle scorched, head cracked – and a fine dusting of white ash dancing in the morning air.

Still in the shadowed corner beside the door, Grey Star buried his face in his hands.

 

* * *

NOTES

* * *

_Ow_. I hate it when characters introduce themselves to me _with their death scene_. But that’s what Tasilde did. (…along with that very _amusing_ rant about how she’s not going to remake a sword with the _same weakness that broke it_ , darn it!)

I glanced over the material in _Fall of Blood Mountain_ when doing my world-building for the dwarves. And, just for the record? I am categorically declaring that non-canon, because for crying out loud, _seriously_. There is greed. And then there is Too Stupid To Live! Or to accept as canon _._ Like not rescuing the missing good guy wizard-king. Or digging up a Balrog (Eldritch evil, whatever) that you _know_ is down there – and not doing something about an idiot prince who _does_ ignore that advice. Because, oi. How many dwarves were involved in the digging? And none of them said anything? And the king never noticed all his people suddenly wandering off, let alone all the korlinium suddenly flooding the market? Le sigh… (That said, Captain Vagel is a canon character from that book. And as an aside - I wasn’t sure korlinium would be a good metal for the Sommerswerd, since there’s apparently a korlinium sheath that _hides_ magic. On the other hand, if you’re making a magic weapon, magic-resistant metals could be a good thing…)

With that said, I am making most of my worldbuilding here out of whole cloth. One particular bit I definitely cooked up on my own was the idea of female-only spell-smiths. That got started because Tasilde up and declared she was a cranky old woman, thank you very much (and I think she owes a great deal in her characterization to, among many other sources, the women of Tatara in _Princess Mononoke_ ). Besides. The Lone Wolf books _seriously_ need some good strong female characters.

As for Grey Star… well, he’s busy thinking, “Pray she never meets Tanith, or I’m doomed. Although if she does, I’m bringing popcorn.”

Or he was. Again – _ow_.

Speaking of – Grey Star’s reaction to a busy city and crowds is based on the fact that, once again, he grew up among the Shianti: wise and powerful and, it’s strongly implied, very few in number. Certainly they’d have to be, from a sustainability standpoint. The Isle of Lorn is small, and the Shianti _cannot_ trade with anyone, thanks to Ishir’s decree. They must make – by magical means or otherwise – their own food, water, and goods. Magic apparently solves a lot of those problems, but that still imposes some _severe_ restrictions on population size. And yet the Shianti still have the resources to turn most of the island into a kind of mystic paradise, complete with things like _rivers of jewels_ (not exactly useful for feeding people), going by _The Buccaneers of Shadaki_ (which, again, seems silly to me, but it’s not like they have much else to do!). All of which means that Grey Star probably spent the first sixteen years of his life _never meeting anyone he hadn’t grown up knowing_. Heck yes he’d be overwhelmed by bustling crowds! (And yes, this is one of the “culture shock from hell” bits that lies behind my decision to ignore the whole “Wizard-Regent” thing.)

(…as an aside, I do not believe the maps’ claims as to where Lorn is. Period. There is _no_ w _ay_ that the Shianti could have “vanished” for four or five thousand years, if they’re sitting in the middle of the mouth of a harbor to a busy port city! Storms and mist or no! Especially when it is canon as of the Magnamund Companion, at least, that there are plenty of islands out away from the continent, from which most of the races populating Magnamund came.)

Information on sword-smithing is mostly taken from a rant on AnvilFire dot com about all the inquiries they get from people who want to make a sword without _thinking_ about it, and an article from The Arma dot org on the art and craft of swordsmithing in medieval times. Suffice to say that it is a _very_ complex process. And yes, patterned folding in metal is a real thing, and is often used to get the mix of hardness and flexibility a sword needs. Japanese katanas are famous for it, as is Damascus steel. Interestingly, according to Wikipedia the Vikings _also_ practiced something very similar, and were so good at it that they would use the patterns for subtle aesthetic effects. (As an aside, yes, obsidian takes an edge _much_ sharper than steel – the edge of a piece of obsidian can go down to the molecular level!) Much of the forging scene was drawn from information found in _The Serpent in the Sword_ – an essay studying the use of pattern-welding aesthetically in Viking swords, and also used as a title for a series of YouTube by a smith attempting to recreate the effect. I also used as a reference the Nova episode on _Secrets of the Viking Sword_ , also available on YouTube. Given that the Sommlending are depicted as a vaguely Nordic people, this seemed _very_ appropriate for the Sommerswerd.

That said, yes, I played fast and loose with some of the details – particularly things where the videos showed production steps that could _only_ be done by modern machinery. Pretty sure the dwarves don’t have industrial sanding belts and bandsaws. And, just because I’m a geek – bunnies say that this particular sword was tempered as it was forged, in the sunfire, and that the “rapid cooling” stage happened in that last flash as dawn broke. Or in other words, It’s Magic, These Are Not The Handwaves You Are Looking For…

Lone Wolf supposedly _does_ take up the crafting of weapons, in later books – but every master starts out a novice at some point! (And yes, of course he gets teased about the apron. The bunnies’ unofficial subtitle for this story is “How Lone Wolf Acquired a Sense of Humor between _Castle_ _of Death_ and _The Jungle of Horrors_.”)

“Divinity and goodness do not make one infallible.” This is a _key_ concept in polytheistic philosophy, and even more key in dualistic philosophies that posit a great battle between good and evil – precisely the sort of set-up in we see in the Lone Wolf world. It’s one that long-standing monotheistic societies have trouble with – the idea that Good might ultimately _lose_ , and that by definition, the gods are _not_ omniscient and omnipotent. And by that same token, Good can make mistakes, if only because the existence of an opposing force of Evil means that there’s someone working against them.

Tasilde isn’t necessarily wrong to worry, either. Apparently, there’s a race of beings, in canon, that lived _purely to guard a Lorestone until Lone Wolf could get it_. Once he had, their purpose was complete, and it’s acknowledged as the start of the decline of their race; in fact, according to the Q &A in the _Companion_ , they would all be gone within the next generation. All very well and good for Lone Wolf – but, as the TV Tropes entry points out, it makes you wonder when the day will come when humans Have Served Their Purpose… and what will happen after that.

Yes, supposedly it’s because Kai went and extended the time of their race specifically so they _could_ guard the Lorestone. They spend _millennia_ guarding the thing for him, and once they’re done, it’s, “Okay, I don’t need you anymore, you can all die now.” That’s one retirement policy I wouldn’t care to sign up for! And given that, in a dualistic system as with Naar and Kai, fate _isn’t_ set in stone and it _is_ technically possible for Lone Wolf to die without fulfilling his destiny (more than possible, if you look at the various and sundry ways he can get himself killed in the books) – what happens to them in that case? Do they suddenly start dropping like flies because, oops, Lone Wolf didn’t make it, guess I don’t need you anymore?

Yeaaaah. Long story short? Most societies – including, quite emphatically, early Judaism – consider the best way of dealing with divinities to be, _propitiate them with gifts and pray they ignore you_. And it’s usually for a good reason.

Light is Not Good. Good is Not Nice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!
> 
> Apologies to anyone actually following this (I don't kid myself, this is a pre-Internet fandom that was very niche even when it was _new_ ) - I literally blocked any access to AO3 on my main computers for the entire month of April, in a bid to pull myself through the crunch of finals (because I have no self-control when I'm stressed). But I survived!

King Ryvin was waiting on the trail leading from the forge.

After a moment of hesitation, Lone Wolf stepped forward, bracing himself as he wondered what words could possibly serve. Then his eyes met those of the dwarven king – and he realized no words were necessary.

King Ryvin tilted his head slightly. “She told me what she planned,” he said simply. “Did you succeed?”

Silently, Lone Wolf unwrapped the long bundle he carried to reveal the finished blade, gleaming as though it had already been polished. To his shock, the blade had been only warm to the touch when he’d gone to take it up, the edges sharp, as no blade should be so fresh from the forge – and he had known, as he lifted it, that no tempering would be needed. The sunfire and the spell-smith’s will had wrought well indeed.

Ryvin stepped forward to study the blade, somber respect in his eyes.

“She was truly the master of her craft,” he said solemnly. “And we will honor her as such.”

In Boradon, the preparations were well under way. It was the practice of the dwarves to close their dead in mausoleums, until all flesh was gone and only bone remained. The bones were stored in the shrines of the ancestors for three generations, before being brought forth to return to the mountains in a great pyre. But Tasilde the Spell-Smith was to be given the greatest honor of the dwarves, a tomb amongst their greatest kings and heroes, where their bones would become one with the bones of the mountains themselves. As Tasilde had left no body, her cracked and scorched hammer was laid to rest in her place. The ceremony was quiet, and strikingly plain and simple – something that suited the curt smith’s nature, Lone Wolf found himself thinking. And something in the queen’s face as the daughter of Tasilde laid her mother’s relic in the empty tomb suggested that he was not alone in that thought.

But when they emerged into the Great Hall of Boradon, they found what seemed to be the whole of the city gathered, waiting in silence.

King Ryvin held out his hand to Lone Wolf. Reading his intent, Lone Wolf handed over the leather-wrapped blade, still without pommel or grip. King Ryvin unwrapped it, then raised the steel high for all to see it, glittering in the light of a thousand torches.

There was no shouting. No cheers. Instead, every dwarf began to stamp his or her feet, steadily, rhythmically, until the whole of the mountain echoed as though filled by a pulsing heartbeat.

Then Ryvin lowered the blade again, and the moment passed. The crowd dispersed, talking in low voices as they scattered to memorial feasts – or to return to their labors, for the day-to-day work of Boradon never truly ceased, no matter what befell. The blade passed into the reverent hands of the cutler, who bore it to her own workshop, to affix the hilt and finish the last minor details of grip and pommel.

And Lone Wolf slipped out and away.

He had already lent his hand in the making of the hilt, so far as he’d been permitted. What remained was simple work, and work that the cutler knew well; Lone Wolf had tested several of the weapons the dwarf had hilted, and he would have been honored to bear any of them in battle. He trusted the cutler’s skill in her craft – and he trusted the blade Tasilde had forged, somehow. The heart of the work was done. The rest would be well.

And he had a promise to keep.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he commented quietly, pulling himself up onto the foredeck of the _Skyrider_.

In light of Naar’s plotting, and the attack the skyship had already weathered, Banedon and Ryvin had arranged for her to moor, not at her usual anchorage on the upper slopes, but in the shelter of an overhang near the mountain’s base, using a swiftly constructed scaffold as dock. The location shielded the _Skyrider_ from unfriendly eyes for the most part, although that shielding was scarce at best; overhead, he could easily see where the dark shadow of stone gave way to the sea of stars beyond.

Grey Star didn’t turn his eyes from those shining points of light.

“It’s strange,” he said quietly. “I was taught that the stars looked very different in Northern Magnamund – and many of them are different, indeed. And yet, though the patterns have shifted – there is something familiar about them, even so.”

The young wizard was sitting on the deck, back against the railing with his arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees. In one hand, he was playing with the red gem he usually wore on a simple thong around his neck; he’d wrapped the thong around his wrist to keep from dropping it, and the gem glinted in the low light of the stars as he wove it through his fingers with surprising dexterity, although there was no hint of the arcane light that had blazed from the stone when the wizard had shielded Lone Wolf’s mind from Naar.

Lone Wolf settled down on the planks of the deck beside Grey Star. Saying nothing, he turned his face up to study the stars as well, and waited.

Long moments passed – and then Grey Star’s hand suddenly closed in a tight fist around the red stone, as the wizard released an unsteady sigh, and leaned forward to press his forehead against his knees.

“I’ve lost friends before,” he said, voice a muffled murmur from beneath the curtain of dark hair that swung forward to hide his face, a few stray strands of silver gleaming amidst the black. “Sometimes to ill luck, sometimes to my own foolish mistakes.” His shoulders shook slightly as he inhaled, the sound of it ragged. “But never before by my own hands!”

Lone Wolf nodded, closing his eyes as he wondered what to say. Or even if there was anything he _could_ say. He didn’t even remember his first kill; lost in the chaos of a war, with Kraan circling the skies overhead and Giaks stalking every path, Helghast assassins lying in wait, and the horror of the massacred Monastery always looming in the back of his mind… He’d set out from the ruins an untried Initiate, and ended the war a blooded warrior, and he couldn’t recall when or how the change had happened.

Grey Star was far from untried or unblooded. The wizard might wield will rather than steel, but he was as much a warrior as any Kai Lord, in his own way. And yet… Lone Wolf also remembered the way the younger man had winced at the falling guard’s scream. Grey Star was no stranger to combat – but he had no particular love for it, either.

_And this was not combat._

“I cannot say I’ve ever faced such a trial,” he admitted at last, still gazing up at the stars, but not truly seeing them. The closest he’d ever come… he still remembered Captain Kelman’s twisted, dead body, water-logged and disfigured, and empty, fish-eaten eye sockets staring at him as a horrible, bubbling voice pleaded him to set the Sommerswerd aside, the light _burned_ so much…

But even then, the good captain was already long dead, his body taken over by dark magic in the hopes of luring Lone Wolf into foolish carelessness.

“Though I have been forced to move on, while others died in my stead,” he added quietly. Again, and again, and _again_ , until sometimes he thought his own presence was a death-curse. Of those who’d fought by his side in dark hours, he could count the ones who yet breathed on one hand. With fingers to spare.

_But there is one more, now._

“I have been told that it gets easier, over time,” he said, setting that thought aside for later.

Grey Star’s head jerked up. “I do not _wish_ it to get easier!” the wizard snapped, eyes flashing.

Lone Wolf startled himself by laughing softly.

“Nor would I,” he admitted as Grey Star blinked, clearly taken aback. “Not if the loss of pain came at the cost of no longer _caring_ for my companions. Come what may in the end.”

“Good.”

Startled, they both turned to look down.

Looking up from the stairs of the scaffolding, King Ryvin raised his brows. “You are the last of the Kai Lords, Lone Wolf,” he said. “If you truly wish to restore your order, then you can no longer be merely the _last_. You must be the _leader_.” He looked up, to where the many windows and doors of Boradon glittered gold against the dark mountainside, and sighed quietly. “To lead and care is painful,” he said. “But to lead _without_ caring? Is to fail.”

Lone Wolf blinked, and found he had to roll his shoulders slightly to release an unexpected tension in them. His duty was to restore the Order; he had known that from the day Silent Wolf had found the ledger that held the names of the Kai Lords in the ruins of the monastery.

He’d held it in his hands for a long moment, dry-eyed, too numb to even grieve properly, surrounded by death and destruction. Then he’d taken up a piece of burned wood, rather than waste time looking for ink and quill in the ruins, and drawn a line through the _Silent_ of his own name.

He’d nearly kept going – nearly scratched his own name from the ledger entirely, and ended the Order then and there.

Instead, he’d taken a deep breath – and written _Lone_ above it.

He would complete the Magnakai quest, and master the greater Disciplines. And then…

_And then I can no longer be a learner alone. I must become a teacher._

He wondered if new fathers felt so terrified, when their firstborn was first placed in their hands.

Ryvin held out a long, dark shape. “Come. See Master Tasilde’s final work.”

Swallowing, Lone Wolf climbed to his feet, and paused to offer his hand to Grey Star when the younger man hesitated, clearly still torn by his part in the forging. But Grey Star drew in a deep breath and shook his head slightly, climbing to his feet on his own power and tucking the red stone back into a pocket of his grey robes before they descended the ladder to the main deck and went to join Ryvin on the scaffolding.

Lone Wolf hesitated, studying the sword. The dwarves had fashioned a new scabbard for it; a plain thing, of dark leather touched with metalwork at the throat and tip, the only decoration a subtle radiating sunburst pattern in layered colors of bronze. The hilt was surprisingly simple as well, the pommel a beveled circle with the same sunburst design picked out in subtle metalwork, and the crossguard arcing slightly towards the blade, reinforced by two arches curving in to meet the rain guard, where the crosspiece extended forward to cover the base of the blade. Only the rainguard was fully decorated, the rays of a sun-disk seeming to rise out of the hilt itself reaching up to stars and a single silver disk directly above it that must have been the moon, the metal of the background darkened to heighten the contrast of gold and silver.

In all, it was very like – and yet, not _quite_ the same – as the original hilt he had known so well.

Ryvin turned the sword, holding it by the scabbard as he presented the hilt to Lone Wolf in silent invitation. Breathing deeply, Lone Wolf closed his hand on the grip – and then, in one smooth motion, drew the sword free.

His breath caught. This… was not the original Sommerswerd. He could feel the subtle differences; the blade a hint longer, the shape of the taper slightly elongated. And yet, though there was no hint of the powerful magics that had made the Sommerswerd feel _alive_ in his hand – it _fit_ there, so perfectly that he wondered it had ever _not_ been a part of him.

And though there was no blaze of magic, no sunlight piercing the clouds to illuminate steel as it had once shone through the halls of Durenor’s king – there was a _light_ in the blade, unseen but real, and the subtle patterns of layered metals within the steel itself seemed to dance along the length of the blade like living flames in the starlight.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he accepted the scabbard from Ryvin and slid the blade home, before carefully attaching the scabbard to his belt.

Feeling the weight of the sword settle at his side… For what seemed like the first time since the Sommerswerd had shattered in his hand, Lone Wolf felt _whole_ again.

Studying his face, Ryvin nodded in evident satisfaction. Then he stepped back slightly, to meet both their eyes.

“The sword is reforged – but your quest is not yet over. A guest awaits you in my hall.”

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

Following Lone Wolf through the door of the small audience chamber – the same one where they had met King Ryvin, two weeks earlier – Grey Star saw the “guest,” and stopped short.

“Master Rimoah.” Lone Wolf strode forward as the head of the Council of Elder Magi rose from his seat. “What brings you here? We are far indeed from Dessi.”

“Young Banedon’s message warned us that Naar may have turned his eyes to us, to prevent the restoration of the Sommerswerd,” the Magi said gravely. “We decided that no chances were to be taken with the Sun-crystal. I brought it myself – as well as tidings.” He tilted his head to Lone Wolf. “Forgive me for not making my presence known sooner, but I did not wish to risk disturbing the forging. We of the Council know very little of the arts of the spell-smiths.”

As he spoke, his eyes dropped to the sword now restored to its place at Lone Wolf’s side. Answering the silent request, Lone Wolf slid the blade from its sheath and, bowing slightly as he laid it across his hands, presented it to Rimoah.

Rimoah accepted it with both hands, gingerly avoiding the shining edge as he studied the gleam of firelight on metal. Grey Star could feel the magic dancing around the Elder Magi, humming with the same complexities as the spells of the _Skyrider_ , although where the Skyrider was a brilliant cacophony of interleaving melodies, the magic of Rimoah was a stern and stately march, pulsing in smooth rhythm and order.

Then Lord Rimoah’s breath caught.

“Amazing,” he said, his voice shaking with almost painful relief. “Against all odds, and beyond all hopes… Your young friend was correct, Kor-Skaarn. The magic of the blade has survived its trials – and, I think, grown the stronger for its reforging.”

As he spoke, he turned thoughtful eyes to where Grey Star still hesitated by the door.

When his gaze fell on grey robes, those eyes narrowed slightly in surprise, and Grey Star tensed, though he fought to hide it, stepping forward as though he’d never paused to join Banedon by the table. To his surprise, the theurgist caught his eye and offered an encouraging smile, as well as a subtle shrug – as one younger wizard to another in the face of the head of one of the oldest orders of magic still known to the world of men, Grey Star realized. The thought was surprisingly cheering, and he found himself smiling in return before turning to see Lord Rimoah looking intently at his face.

Grey Star raised his chin slightly and met his gaze evenly.

Rimoah pursed his lips slightly – but then shook his head, and turned his attention back to Lone Wolf. “The blade has been restored, even stronger than it once was – but the magic itself is still weakened and shattered,” he warned, passing the blade back to the Kai Lord “The ancient enchantments must be restored and returned to their anchor. We must find some way to repeat the original magics that imbued the blade with power in the first place. And that… will not be easy.”

Lone Wolf nodded shortly. “Were you able to find the spells?” he asked, sheathing the Sommerswerd again.

Lord Rimoah sighed, and for a moment every one of his long years were etched deeply into his face. “Unfortunately, they were never in our keeping.”

Banedon straightened in his chair, eyes widening. “But the Magi have ever been the counselors of the Kai Lords,” he protested. “Ever since Sun Eagle first went to them for wisdom, in the first Magnakai quest.”

Lord Rimoah sank back into his chair, gesturing for Lone Wolf to do the same. Grey Star took the seat next to him, the only one that remained unoccupied, glancing about quickly to take in the rest of the room. King Ryvin had joined them, which was no great surprise – but Prince Hamil also sat at the table, in a seat that likely had been designed for the dwarves, for it raised the boy up to a comfortable height at the table, making him seem older than his years. Although the nervous way the boy bit at his lip, and then hastily pretended he’d done no such thing, belied that impression. But as Lone Wolf and Grey Star joined the table, he seemed to relax somewhat – likely relieved to be spared the weight of the intimidating Magi’s full attention.

Lord Rimoah closed his eyes, one hand rubbing at his forehead beneath the tall headdress, as though the weight of it pained him. “Understand,” he said quietly. “The Sommerswerd is ancient, and was ancient long before King Ulnar the First’s ancestors first took it in hand to claim the land of Sommerlund out from beneath the very talons of the Darklords,” he said. “It was forged by a people who came to this world as wanderers across the myriad of dimensions, known as the Shianti.”

Grey Star started – but his reaction was eclipsed by Banedon’s. “The Ancients?” the theurgist asked, leaning forward eagerly. “I thought them little more than a long-forgotten myth! Even in the most ancient of spellbooks, one is lucky to find even a passing reference to them.”

Lord Rimoah nodded. “True. And yet many of their ways have become part of the lore of magic.” Reaching out, he indicated the crescent-and-star emblem on the shoulder of Banedon’s robes. “Even that sigil, if you trace its history far enough, has roots in the age when the Shianti were seen as like gods by humanity. The crescent moon was their symbol of of growth, of potential. The star was a sign of hope, and light in the deepest darkness.” Turning, he looked at Lone Wolf. “You know of them as well, though few remember the name by which they knew themselves. For they were masters of the deepest arts of magic – and the crafters of the Moonstone.”

Lone Wolf drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening. Then, slowly, he nodded. “And where are they now?” he asked quietly.

The Magi sat back heavily. “And here I must be the bearer of grave news,” he said reluctantly. “For the Shianti were _too_ powerful, and in crafting the Moonstone, they transgressed upon the natural balance of Aon. And so Ishir was forced to cast them out, lest they disrupt the destiny of humans beyond all recall.”

Lone Wolf’s face darkened. “So they are lost to us.”

“Some legends say that Ishir relented, and allowed them to remain upon Magnamund. They had come to love this world and its people, and their hearts were gentle,” Rimoah said quietly. “But she demanded of them a solemn vow, that never again would they interfere in the world of mankind.” He sighed. “And so the spells of the Shianti, that crafted the Sommerswerd in the golden age of Magnamund… they are lost to us.”

His mouth was as dry as the demon-haunted remains of the Lissan Plains. Even so, Grey Star forced himself to speak. “Not entirely.”

And fought the urge to cringe as every eye in the chamber was turned upon him.

Every dark eye.

_Ishir have mercy – will I never get used to that?_

The eyes of those he had known as his family gleamed like mirrors, shining in even the lowest light, and reflecting back whatever they looked upon. When the Kundi had presented him with their riddle – _what does Kundi see?_ – it had not been remembering that detail that had given Grey Star pause; he had hesitated because he’d forgotten that such a thing would be remarkable to any other person who encountered them. Indeed, that was meditation among his family – to sit eye to eye, facing each other, seeing themselves reflected in the other’s eyes reflecting the other reflecting them, into infinity.

It was a meditation he’d never been able to take part in.

 He hadn’t understood it, as a small child. Only known that something was _wrong_. That when he looked upon his own reflection, his eyes were not shining mirrors, but rings of eerie mist-grey around horrible, all-consuming _black_.

Grey Star vividly remembered the distraught expression on Acarya’s face when his foster-father finally learned _why_ their adopted child flinched away from any mirror larger than his family’s eyes. The great High Wizard had gathered him up and simply _held_ him for a long time, letting him shake. And then, carefully and patiently, explained that nothing was _wrong_ with Grey Star’s eyes. It was simply the nature of human eyes to draw in the light, as it was that of their own eyes to reflect, and there was nothing to fear…

That had been the day when Grey Star first began to grasp what it meant, that he was _human_ , and those who raised, trained and treasured him were not. To understand that, love them though he might… in the end, he would not be able to stay.

_But I did not leave them empty-handed._

Grey Star kept his gaze fixed on Lord Rimoah, making himself meet those unsettlingly dark eyes. “The people of Shadaki have not forgotten the lore of the Shianti. Or their magic. I can cast the ritual.”

All true. Just… not _quite_ linked together in the way he implied.

Lord Rimoah raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you wear the grey robes, then?”

A loaded question indeed, Grey Star noted, seeing Banedon watching him with interest. Although more troubling still was the way Lone Wolf had settled back, eyes shadowed and thoughtful as he listened. “I wear the robes to honor the teachers who gifted them to me,” he replied, choosing his words with care.

Lord Rimoah frowned, clearly suspecting there was something yet unspoken in Grey Star’s response. But he let it pass, shaking his head. “There is more to magic than lore and legend, young one,” he warned. “Indeed, our records suggest that the spells of the Shianti _could not_ be taught, not in the manner of our own magical arts. To them, magic was not a tool, but a way of life.”

True enough. Grey Star thought furiously, trying not to let it show on his face. Given the choice, he would prefer not to reveal Shasarak’s nature as a renegade Shianti, for fear that Ishir would count his actions as violating the oath of the inhabitants of the misty isle, as well. Particularly given that very little of the magics wielded by the Shadakine wytches had roots in any form of magic Grey Star had learned from his mentors. But…

“If Grey Star feels he can master the ritual of the Sommerswerd, and bring it to life once more,” Lone Wolf said thoughtfully, “then I, for one, choose to believe him.” The Kai Lord looked at the rest of the gathering, and raised a brow pointedly. “After all, he has been vouched for by no less than Naar himself.”

Grey Star choked.

“ _What?_ ”

Oh. Good. Banedon, at least, was protesting on his behalf. As Grey Star would have, had he not been distracted by trying to _breathe_ at the moment.

A steadying hand rested on his shoulder; looking up, he found Lone Wolf regarding him calmly, almost reassuringly – with a rare spark of genuine _mischief_ in his eyes when Grey Star scowled furiously at him.

Then the Kai Lord turned to the others, leaning forward in his seat. “ _Think_ ,” he urged them, low and intense. “Naar’s plan was flawless, and he _succeeded_. He had me, captive and helpless, his to torment and slay whenever he so pleased. Prince Hamil was his vessel, and the Sommerswerd in his keeping. Even if I were to escape – where would I go? I am no wizard, to open a portal between the worlds. Even if I somehow found that passage – the path to escape would only lead me to the Sommerswerd, and the trap would simply close in a different way. _He had won_. Save that he made one, fatal mistake.” Turning, he looked at Grey Star again. “You.”

Coughing finally calmed, Grey Star slowly straightened. “He had his own plans for me,” he reminded Lone Wolf.

And that was not a comforting thought. Naar’s minions had gone out of their way to take him alive, and as unharmed as possible. And in the tower…

Naar had thrown him aside, stunning him and leaving him unable to aid in the battle that followed. But the lord of darkness had _not_ killed him. Had not even tried, though Grey Star had been nearly defenseless from the effort of shielding Lone Wolf’s mind.

Lone Wolf nodded. “That, I do not doubt,” he said. “If nothing else – I suspect Agarash remembers full well who barred his attempt to cross into this world.”

Ryvin and Lord Rimoah both blanched, as Banedon made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Grey Star could not help a shiver himself; the thought of having the attention of Agarash the Damned was not a pleasant one in the least. Once had been _more_ than enough.

Far more frightening was the thought that Naar’s interest might _not_ be linked to Agarash’s vendetta.

_I bear in my mind an echo of the Moonstone itself._ The thought was like ice in his spirit. _If Naar even suspects…_

“But Naar’s mistake,” Lone Wolf continued, “was that he held _both_ of us captive at the same time. Why take such a risk, when his plans for you were set aside until he had finished with me? Surely he must have suspected that your presence could pose a threat to his scheming!” He shook his head. “The only possible reason I can see is that, somehow, you were a _threat_ to his plans for me and the Sommerswerd; threat enough that he dared not leave you free to act as those plans were carried out. But how?” He turned up his hands. “You are of Shadaki. Word would not have reached you until it was far, far too late to act – if, indeed, it reached you at all. Why should it have? The peoples of Shadaki have little to do with Sommerlund, for good or ill.” He leaned forward. “The answer can only be this, then – that you have the knowledge needed to undo his evil. To restore the Sommerswerd.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the crackle of the fire disturbed the quiet, and the soft sound of leather and cloth shifting as Lone Wolf settled back in his chair once more, his piece said and done.

Then Lord Rimoah said, thoughtfully, “You are Shadaki’s Grey Wizard, then.”

Startled, Grey Star looked at him.

The Magi smiled slightly. “The Council of Elder Magi may rule Dessi, but we are not ignorant of the wider world around us. When word reached us that the hero of the rebellion against Shasarak was a young wizard of unknown origins – it caught our attention.” His lips quirked. “Though we thought little of the rumors at the time. Some even claimed that the Grey Wizard _was_ one of the Shianti.”

Grey Star nearly betrayed himself by laughing hysterically in relief. Of all the things to preserve his secret, he never would have thought of this. “Obviously not,” he said wryly, gesturing briefly towards his eyes. No wonder the Magi had sought out his gaze!

“But you are Shadaki’s hero,” Rimoah noted.

“Hero,” Grey Star echoed, shaking his head. “I would not call myself that.”

“No?” Banedon asked curiously.

“I only succeeded thanks to the strength of friends and allies who stepped forward to stand against the darkness beside me,” Grey Star said firmly. “Yes – I fought Shasarak, and fought him alone, and for that they call me ‘hero.’ But without the aid of the Freedom Guild, I would never have reached the Wytch-King at all.” He smiled slightly. “In the end, I was not a hero – I was the vessel of the heroism of many.”

“But to face such an enemy alone – that would take courage indeed.” Lord Rimoah drew in a slow breath, and nodded, before turning to look at Lone Wolf. “I fear it is a courage you will both need. For there is one last obstacle: the ritual must be carried out at the Nexus of Light – a place where the power of the heavens and the energy of Magnamund itself intersect. It was once located in the heart of the city of the Shianti.”

Grey Star felt the blood rush from his face. “Hol-da-Kiem,” he said, lips feeling cold and numb. “Naar’s destination.”

Lone Wolf lunged to his feet, so forcefully that his chair toppled to the floor behind him. “Then we must set out now!” he said fiercely. “Before Naar’s forces have a chance to strike!”

But Banedon was shaking his head. “It has been nearly three weeks since your escape,” he said, fists clenched on the table. “I fear we are too late.”

“Perhaps not,” Lord Rimoah said, to Grey Star’s shock. “For that is the final piece of the tidings I bring you.” He looked around the table, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “As soon as we uncovered the location of the Nexus, we knew that time would be your enemy. Even as I brought the Sun-crystal here, the rest of my Council journeyed to Sommerlund to consult with King Ulnar. He gathered a force, and they have gone to stem the tide for as much time as they can buy.”

Lone Wolf blinked. “But – Hol-da-Kiem is to the distant south, across the Tentarius itself. The travel time alone…”

Lord Rimoah smiled slightly. “And that is why my brethren went to him. We have turned Naar’s own trick upon him; Sommerlund is marked with the remains of ancient portals, Dark and Light and neither at all. And do not forget – Naar himself has weakened the barriers of space and time around Hol-da-Kiem, to move his vast forces. Knowing that – opening a portal for Sommerlund’s forces was a simple matter.”

_The remains of ancient portals…_ Suddenly thoughtful, Grey Star fingered the Mind Gem, still tucked away in the pocket of his robe.

“I thought the Elder Magi no longer intervened directly,” Lone Wolf breathed, stunned.

“It is true that we concentrate our powers on Dessi,” Lord Rimoah said. “But this is far greater. The Sommerswerd _must_ be restored!” He drew in a deep breath and rose from his chair, to set his hands on the table. “They buy you time – but they cannot hold out for long. Go, as quickly as you can. And may Ishir and Kai watch over all of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we get to the third of the major AU elements for this story, alongside the timeline (and subsequent character age issues) and rejecting the canon that Grey Star became Wizard-Regent after Shasarak’s fall. (Along with, well, the fact that this story is _happening_ , since logically the events in it would influence events in other stories!) That being the makers of the Sommerswerd.
> 
> As I mentioned, my plotbunnies looked at the bit of flavor text on the Sommerswerd saying that it had been made by “a race that men would now call gods,” looked at the backstory of the Shianti – then grabbed the two elements and _ran_ , cackling gleefully every step of the way. But I wanted to at least know what canon actually says on the topic (and if, in fact, the issue of the makers of the Sommerswerd ever _had_ been resolved), and did some digging, since it hasn’t come up in any of the earlier books. It seems that in the official canon, the Sommerswerd was made by a people called the “Nuoma.”
> 
> “Huh,” says I. “So who are they?”
> 
> This is what the Lone Wolf Wiki has to say on the subject: “The ‘nameless ones’, a race of people who pre-date the Sommlending. They created the Sommerswerd and were similar to the Shianti (who were known as Majhan, Suukon, or the Ancients). Unlike the Shianti they never left the Plane of Light.”
> 
> Me: …wait, what?
> 
> Why go out of your way to create a race of extradimensional god-like beings (and tweak the backstory of the Shianti in the process, for that matter – the Shianti supposedly come from _outside_ the whole system, according to the introductions of the Grey Star books) when you’ve already _got_ extra-dimensional, largely good-aligned, god-like beings right there? Particularly when the description boils down to, “Shianti, only not.”
> 
> Hence the AU element: the _Shianti_ were the original makers of the Sommerswerd, possibly influenced by Kai.
> 
> As part of that, I also played up their influence on later magic-users – but the introduction of the Grey Star books suggests that influence would have been substantial, even after they vanished. (Speaking of – the symbolism of a star as hope is canon; I added the crescent symbolism.)
> 
> As for Grey Star’s reaction to the eyes… think about it. You grow up thinking of the people you see around you as _normal_. Heck, you don’t even have to grow up in that context, just acclimate; I had one very dramatic experience while living in Japan when I turned a corner and suddenly saw a blonde, blue-eyed woman looking back. Did a crazy double-take – wait, what, _who_ , they look so odd, what is a foreigner doing here…
> 
> Turned out that what I’d seen was actually _my own reflection_.
> 
> So, yes. Grey Star would have grown up with the internalized image that mirror-like eyes constitute _normal_. And given the dominance of Light-Dark imagery in the whole good-vs-evil setting, yes, he likely would have _freaked out_ about the fact that his pupils were black, as a kid. The Shianti must have worked very, very hard to reassure him on that front. But to him, mirrored eyes are still normal, and black pupils would be unsettling. Particularly if a lot of them are turned on him all at once.
> 
> Yep – this is another one of those _culture shock from hell_ moments.
> 
> And yes, the Elder Magi probably heard _rumors_ that the Grey Wizard is a Shianti wizard. But one knows how rumor lies… and once you’ve dismissed something as “mere rumor,” it gets very, very hard to go back and reassess it. Cognitive dissonance is tricky that way.
> 
> But Grey Star made a slip. After all, the Kundi set him the riddle about the eyes because that depended on a bit of trivia that is _not common knowledge_ …


	9. Chapter 9

Sails billowing in the wind, the _Skyrider_ flew east.

“From Boradon, there is really only one course we can take to reach Hol-da-Kiem,” Banedon had said grimly when he and Lone Wolf had taken council with each other regarding the best route before setting out, his finger tracing the line of the great Tentarias dividing Magnamund. “The basin is nearly due east of Boradon, practically on the border of the strait itself. However…”

“We must assume that Naar will anticipate our coming,” Lone Wolf finished for the wizard, nodding shortly. “He is no fool; there are only so many places we can have retreated, after his attack. And once again, he holds the advantage of position. Why waste time and effort to search us out, when he knows that we must come to him in the end?”

“It does seem to be a favored tactic.” Banedon studied the map a moment more, then straightened. “If our course is set, then only one question remains: do we fly low, or high?”

Lone Wolf turned to look at him. “You have far more experience in this form of battle than I,” he noted. “What would you advise?”

Banedon extended a hand, palm down, and then tilted it back and forth, as though it were the fulcrum of a scale. “Either course has merits,” he admitted. “But also dangers. If we fly low, between the walls of the Tentarias, we may dodge unfriendly eyes entirely – but if we are found, we will be caught in narrow quarters, and vulnerable to ambush. If we fly high, we will have freedom to maneuver, and will likely see any attack long before it comes – but by that very token, we may ourselves be seen.” He pursed his lips. “I admit that I favor the high road,” he said at last. “If Naar expects us, and he would be a fool not to, the Strait will be watched regardless. And the _Skyrider_ has few defenses against, say, boulders flung down on her from above.”

Lone Wolf had nodded. “Then we fly high.”

_High indeed_ , he thought now, emerging from the hold. The sky was the clear, piercing blue of noon, broken here and there by drifts of white. Far below, the land spread out in a great blanket of green and gray and brown, touched with white on the tips of the mountains framing the horizon to either side, looking down upon the deep, craggy cliffs of the Tentarias below.

Leaning over the rail, he studied it thoughtfully; though his travels had taken him across much of northern Magnamund, particularly the eastern edges, he had never seen the great strait before – and few indeed were any who could claim to have seen it from such an angle.

Legend held it that the Tentarias had been created in the early struggles of Light and Darkness over the fate of Magnamund, after the inconclusive outcome of the War of the Wyrms. The whole face of the world had twisted and torn and reshaped itself – but first and most devastating had been the great crack that split Magnamund forever into two lands, a raw wound in the heart of the land that had never healed.

But in the daylight, it seemed almost too beautiful for such a dark history. The tops of the cliffs were mostly green forest and grasslands, and the waters of the Tentarias danced in the sunlight, dotted with the sails of the many merchant ships plying their trade up and down the passage. Although that was a far more dangerous trade than one might think, Lone Wolf knew; though the sailing was good in clear weather, a single storm could easily spell death for many of those merchants, for wind and waves might dash even a careful ship against the merciless walls, and safe harbors were few and far between.

He was not the only one watching their surroundings. On either side of the ship, he could see lookouts stationed, with Nolrim himself on the poop deck, spyglass to his eye as he scanned the skies behind them, searching not only on the level of the _Skyrider_ but above and below as well, alert for any hint of winged spies of Naar. The dwarves had no intentions of being caught off guard a second time.

Although Lone Wolf suspected they almost hoped it would come to a battle. Eating beside them in the hold, he’d heard any number of comments suggesting the dwarves were eager for a rematch.

_With luck, it will not come to that_ , Lone Wolf thought grimly. _This journey bears dangers enough, without inviting more._

He glanced down at the deck. Since they’d set out, Grey Star had spent most of his time meditating. Often with the Sommerswerd in hand, explaining that he needed to familiarize himself with the patterns of its magic, if he were to stand any chance of recreating it. Sometimes with that strange red stone, his eyes distant and mind clearly far from the _Skyrider_.

At the moment, however, he was doing neither. Taking advantage of the relatively clear main deck as most of the crew sat at their evening meal, he was moving through a series of basic practice moves with his staff, clearly testing the extent to which he had regained strength and mobility in his arm and back.

Suddenly curious, Lone Wolf turned about fully to watch with interest. Grey Star was no great master, certainly; the moves he used were all quite basic, simple blocks and strikes such as a beginning warrior might first learn to familiarize himself with the rhythms and discipline of weapon training, before advancing to his weapon of choice. But Grey Star knew them _well_ , not just in mind but in body. Clearly, he’d dedicated long hours of work to mastering those simple, basic moves.

Although…

Grey Star returned his staff to a resting position as Lone Wolf approached, tilting his head in silent curiosity.

Lone Wolf nodded to the weapon. “You are quite skilled. But… self-taught, I suspect.”

Grey eyes blinked in surprise, before the wizard nodded slowly. “Yes,” he admitted. “My teachers did what they could, but – they were not warriors.”

Lone Wolf nodded, unsurprised. “Wait here for a moment,” he said, and descended into the hold again, to where his possessions had been stowed beneath one of the spare hammocks meant for guests.

He returned bearing the staff he had acquired before they’d left Boradon.

“Spar with me,” he offered.

Grey Star’s eyes widened. “…Why?” he asked, hesitating.

Lone Wolf settled the staff into a basic guard. It was not his weapon of choice – but all students of the Kai Lords were expected to learn the basics of every weapon, before they chose any one to master. And he had kept up those skills; one of many things his travels had taught him was that he could never depend on having access to his own weapons. Gear was all too easily stolen.

“Because it is likely we will have to fight our way to the Nexus,” he said simply. “And I suspect we shall have to do so alone.”

To his surprise, Grey Star chuckled. “Somehow, it always seems to happen that way,” he admitted, a wry smile quirking at the corners of his lips.

“You seem remarkably… casual about that fact,” Lone Wolf noted, bringing his staff around and down in a simple overhead strike. He put no great speed or force behind it; his purpose was not to overwhelm the wizard, but to test his reflexes.

Grey Star blocked it easily, but then stepped back, eyes surprisingly thoughtful.

“I suppose I am,” he said unexpectedly.

Lone Wolf stepped back, raising an eyebrow curiously. He’d expected one of Grey Star’s wry deflections – not a serious response.

The wizard glanced up at the deepening sky, clearly weighing what he wished to say.

“I always knew, growing up, that one day I would face Shasarak,” he said at last. “That I would be the only one who _could_. It was a shadow that always loomed in my future – but if I let that dominate my thoughts, I would never have found the courage to learn the lessons that I needed. And so – I learned to make light of that shadow instead. To accept humor where I found it, and even to seek it out.”

Lone Wolf had to pause at that. “And now you walk into the shadows of Naar’s reach once more, even knowing the danger,” he noted quietly. “I think this has not been said yet, but it should be – thank you.”

Grey Star shook his head, smile wry. “Naar left me little choice but to be a part of this,” he reminded Lone Wolf, raising his staff to guard again. “And Lord Rimoah was right. This is a matter that concerns far more than Sommerlund.”

_And yet, you risk more than you are willing to admit, I suspect_ , Lone Wolf thought. For the scattered pieces that did not _fit_ about the young wizard… had begun to fall into a pattern.

_He wields a form of magic that Banedon himself struggles to even comprehend, let alone grasp_ , he thought in the back of his mind, as he began to speed his strikes and blocks until he was just pushing the edges of Grey Star’s ability to respond, forcing the wizard to speed his reaction time in a way that solo practice never could. _And he believes he can work the magic needed to restore the Sommerswerd._

The Sommerswerd. Forged in the distant past, by a people so skilled in magic that mankind had looked upon them as gods.

_“Some even claimed the Grey Wizard was one of the Shianti.”_

_“Obviously not,”_ Grey Star had replied. And as he’d spoken, one hand had flickered towards his eyes.

Lone Wolf had not forgotten what he had seen, in that vast space between the worlds. Twelve figures, robed in grey… with eyes like mirrors.

_The Shianti are said to have sworn an oath, never to interfere with the world of men… but for those few minutes, we were not_ in _the world of men, were we?_

Which made that strange gesture, indicating Grey Star’s _human_ eyes, very interesting indeed. For no one had spoken of _eyes_ in that council.

_And Naar called Grey Star a changeling child_.

A strange thought indeed. He was loath to accept anything the master of darkness had said… and yet. He had called Lone Wolf a _young stray_. And by a certain turn of meaning, that title had truth to it. After all, in true wolves, the loners were _strays_. Those who had lost their pack.

Why lie, when the truth had so much more power to cut?

_A changeling child… is one who is bound to two worlds, and thus cursed to never belong wholly to either._

Add to that the mysterious teachers of whom Grey Star spoke much but _said_ very little, guarding their secrets close behind wary eyes and the same subtle misdirection with which he wove his illusions…

A sudden counter-attack brought Lone Wolf’s attention snapping back to the sparring; Grey Star might be self-taught, but he was a formidable opponent even so, wielding his staff with both speed and precision.

But a Kai Lord he most certainly was not. Instead of trying to strike past his defenses, Lone Wolf simply firmed his grip and slammed the center of his staff against Grey Star’s block with all of his greater weight and strength behind it, shoving the wizard back. Eyes wide, Grey Star tried to give ground, only to stumble and go down. To Lone Wolf’s satisfaction, however, Grey Star didn’t simply fall, as a trainee in the yard might; as soon as he hit the planks of the deck, he rolled to the side, out of Lone Wolf’s path, and managed to get back to one knee, staff already raised to protect his head from a follow-up attack.

Lone Wolf held back, however. His point had been made; they both knew that once on the ground, Grey Star would likely be at a fatal disadvantage in a true battle. “Good,” he said simply, returning the staff to his side with one hand and reaching out with his other to help pull the younger man back to his feet. “You already know the most important part of any battle: no matter what, _never_ stop fighting, even if all seems hopeless. Every moment you stay alive, is a chance to win through.”

Grey Star’s smile was wry as he accepted Lone Wolf’s hand and pulled himself back to his feet. “I have the feeling that neither of us needed to be taught that particular lesson,” he observed, returning to a ready stance

“When someone attempts to ram you like that, move to the side, not back – as you did in the tower, when you were unarmed,” Lone Wolf went on, beginning the measured strike-and-counter pattern again. “You have neither the strength nor the weight to meet such an attack head-on, and if you allow yourself to be forced back, you risk tripping. Even if you keep your feet, your opponent can control your position, and push you onto bad footing.”

“Or into a wall. Or over a cliff,” Grey Star added, eyes shadowing for a moment – doubtless remembering the guard he had tricked into just such a fate.

Lone Wolf nodded. “You are best not allowing an opponent that close in the first place,” he suggested. “The staff allows you to strike from a greater distance than most weapons; use that to your advantage.” He frowned slightly, remembering the blast of energy that had thrown the Helghast from the _Skyrider_ ’s deck. “Do you often charge your strikes magically?”

“If I must,” Grey Star admitted. “It is costly; such strikes are raw energy, rather than spells.”

Lone Wolf nodded. “Then you might consider using such strikes, not to deal blows to your enemies directly, but to force them away from you,” he suggested. And wondered if he sounded as odd as he felt, dispensing advice as though they stood in the training yard of the lost monastery.

Silent Wolf had been a close-mouthed, taciturn young student of the Kai Lords. Or perhaps better to say _sullen_ – the title of _Silent_ the training masters had bestowed upon him after his first years had not been entirely complimentary, nor due solely to his aptitude for the arts of stealth. And though necessity and time had taught him the arts of command, Lone Wolf still vastly preferred action to words.

_But if I must teach, then I must speak._

Perhaps if he simply approached it as another Discipline to master…?

_…are there Disciplines beyond those of the Magnakai?_

Now it was Grey Star’s turn to break off the sparring, as he lowered his weapon and stepped back, head tilted slightly to one side. “What troubles you?” he asked.

Lone Wolf was spared the need to answer by a piercing whistle.

“Trouble to the fore!” one of the sentries shouted. “Call the captain!”

Sparring forgotten, Lone Wolf and Grey Star both moved to the side rail, leaning out to look ahead.

For a long moment, Lone Wolf saw nothing out of the ordinary – only the deepening blue of the eastern sky as the sun sank lower and lower in the west, the lowest of clouds just beginning to take on hints of the rose-and-amber colors of sunset. Far below, the shadows were growing long, the dancing waves of the Tentarius cast in darkness and the lines of the cliffs picked out against the darkness in orange and red, though at the _Skyrider_ ’s height the sun’s disc still lingered well above the horizon…

Then he saw something odd – a shadow against the twilight blue of the sky on the eastern horizon, not quite along the line of the long strait.

Frowning, he made his way to the ladder and climbed onto the foredeck, to find Banedon already standing there, a spyglass in hand, his lips a thin, grim line in a hard face.

Without being asked, the theurgist passed the spyglass into Lone Wolf’s hands. “Look.”

Raising the glass to his eye, Lone Wolf slowly scanned along the line of the horizon until he once again found that dark mar. And drew in a sharp breath.

A cloud, rising from somewhere beyond a distant ridgeline, black as coal-smoke… and seemingly tiny, until he suddenly realized that the “ridgeline” was no mere ridge at all, but a line of towering mountains, white-tipped at their peaks, and reduced to insignificance in contrast to the dark mass beyond them.

Forcing his breathing to remain slow and even, Lone Wolf lowered the spyglass, handing it over to Grey Star as the other wizard joined them.

“He means to block our passage to Hol-da-Kiem?” he asked Banedon, voice clipped and neutral.

Somehow, he knew the answer even before Banedon shook his head.

“No,” his friend said. “If my charts and readings are accurate… beyond those mountains _is_ Hol-da-Kiem.”

 

_~Nexus of Light~_

 

Above the mountaintops, dark shapes winged back and forth, patrolling the very edge of the shadowed cloud.

Lowering the spyglass, Grey Star breathed something that might have passed for a laugh, had circumstances not been so dire. “A fortress guarded by a foe who knows we have no choice but to come, and a single location in its heart that we must reach,” he said. “This isn’t familiar at all.”

“Nevertheless, we have little choice but to try,” Lone Wolf said flatly.

_As I said_ , Grey Star thought drily, though he held his tongue. _Not familiar at_ all _._

But the Kai Lord had already turned his attention to Banedon. “Can you get us through?”

“Yes,” Banedon answered instantly. “Like you, I anticipated that something of this nature would be waiting for us. I have a plan.” He studied the shadow on the horizon – small without the spyglass still, but rapidly growing as the wind carried the _Skyrider_ ever closer – for a moment, then turned to look at both of them, eyes solemn. “But I fear we will be able to do little more than get you into the valley. Once you are there, you will have to find your way to King Ulnar and the Nexus on your own.”

Now even Lone Wolf looked slightly amused, in a grim way. “Fear not. We will find a way.”

Banedon simply nodded, as though that had never truly been a question to him. Then he turned, eyeing the position of the sun, and glanced at Grey Star. “Can you summon a wind, as you did before?”

Grey Star nodded. “You should not expect a response from the High Reaches again,” he warned. “That was an act of chance as much as anything. But the clouds are meant to be the playthings of the winds.” He eyed the towering black mass ahead, unnaturally stationary against the shifting movement of white clouds around it. “I do not doubt they will be eager to aid.”

Banedon smiled slightly. “That will be enough,” he said. “We do not need great speed yet – and there are other ways to gain it, when the time comes.” He nodded to the western sky. “But our odds will be better if we can time our arrival to match the setting sun.”

“Would it not be better to wait for the morning?” Lone Wolf asked, although it was clear that he was reluctant to lose any more time.

Banedon shook his head. “Once we are within the cloud, I very much doubt that day or night will matter, either way,” he said. “And with the setting sun behind us, the sunglare will help prevent them from sighting us until we are upon them.”

“They are likely to see us long before we arrive,” Grey Star pointed out. “There is little cover for us here.”

Banedon smiled mysteriously. “Ah, but you forget, my young friend – my crew and I have done this sort of thing before. We have a few tricks still to play.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two small stones, their texture rough and porous – and nearly feather-light in Grey Star’s hand as he took one. Pumice, then, the floating rocks of volcanoes.

And bright with magic, and familiar magic at that. “Charms against falling?” Grey Star guessed, recognizing part of the pattern as a major theme from the greater chorus of the _Skyrider_ ’s magic.

“Charms to slow a fall,” Banedon corrected. “If you used them from this height, it is unlikely even that would save you – else I would require anyone on my ship to carry one! But for a quick drop-off, they are invaluable.” He looked at both of them. “Position yourselves at the stern. And when the time comes – _jump_.”

That was… not the most comforting thing to hear. But Grey Star tucked the stone into his pocket as Banedon turned to Nolrim. “Pipe the crew, Bo’sun,” the theurgist said. “We are going in.”

The bo’sun nodded, smirking, and piped out a complex series of notes. Immediately, activity exploded across the ship, as some of the dwarves began to swarm up the rigging, trimming the sails as though for a great storm. Others opened seachests and handed out sturdy harnesses that the dwarves clipped to rings and lines set into the rails and decks of the _Skyrider_ , clearly intended for just such a purpose. Others, to Grey Star’s surprise, began winching up the safety nets that dangled below the _Skyrider_ to catch any unfortunate who tumbled overboard. Though he noted that the straps used to hold the furled nets were designed with a quick-release mechanism that would allow them back to their full extent in mere moments.

Banedon watched the preparations with a pleased eye, then turned to Grey Star. “We are ready for the wind,” he said.

Grey Star nodded and closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he reached out with mind and magic, and called.

The winds answered almost immediately, playful in the shifting temperatures of the coming sunset and offended by that obstinate cloud of darkness that defied their strongest gusts. The sails of the _Skyrider_ billowed, the moon-and-star pennant rippling overhead as the ground below them began to move past at a faster and faster rate.

Banedon nodded in satisfaction. “That will do,” he said, and then raised his voice. “Attention, all hands,” he called out. “We are now entering fog-silence!”

Across the deck, he was met with broad grins and thumbs-up from the crew, and Grey Star could see the dwarves passing the message along in whispers, although he did not doubt that most of them had heard Banedon’s initial announcement.

Then Banedon turned to the crystal helm of the _Skyrider_ – and twisted it, revealing a hidden compartment beneath with a number of other crystals. He rested his hand on one, a clouded opal almost devoid of the fiery flashes of color that normally characterized the stone, and closed his eyes.

Mist began to seep forth from the planks of the _Skyrider_. At first, it was little more than faint white wisps, scattered almost as soon as they formed in the same wind that carried the skyship forward. But more and more joined them, until the _Skyrider_ sailed in its own small cloud, the mist so thick that Grey Star found he could barely make out the mast amidships from where he stood on the foredeck. The stern itself had vanished into the misty white haze.

Following Lone Wolf, he descended to the deck, and together they made their way to the rear of the ship, moving carefully, for a thin film of moisture from the fog now covered the deck. Ardim met them there, already strapped in, and he directed them in donning their own protective harnesses and clipping them in, explaining the quick release on the hooks in case they had to move quickly.

Then there was little to do but wait.

“What next?” Grey Star asked, keeping his voice low and soft; somehow, though the fog muffled his sight, sound seemed to carry eerily well through the mist. “How can Banedon even see through this?”

“The captain’s crystal gives him eyes beyond the cloud,” Ardim said, equally quiet, as another dwarf made his way to them, carrying their gear. “It’s no perfect solution; for any combat, it’s best to drop the cloud-cloak and strike head-on.”

“But for now, we are little more than a wisp of cloud, drifting in on the wind,” Lone Wolf said, pulling his pack on over the harness. “And when we are too close to maintain the façade?”

Ardim simply grinned wolfishly. “Then you will see how the name of Banedon and the _Skyrider_ came to be so honored in tale!” he said smugly.

And then there was little they could do save wait, and listen to the faint flutter of the sails and the subtle creak of wood under the throaty song of the wind, as the white mist around them took on a golden cast; the sun was beginning to set.

New sounds filtered through the mist; the flap of leathery wings, and the hoarse shrieks of Kraan.

A whisper filtered up through the ranks, passed from dwarf to dwarf: _Be ready_.

Breathless moments crept by; the sound of the Kraan grew louder, as the golden light around them began to tinge reddish.

“ _Now_!” Banedon shouted, and as one the dwarves sent up a great roar as the cloud suddenly blew away, and the light of the setting sun behind them lanced past the _Skyrider_. One unfortunate Kraan was directly in front of them; blinded by the sudden light and caught off guard, only a lucky flap of leathery wings carried it out of their flight path, and Grey Star glimpsed its rider clinging for dear life as the Kraan flapped wildly to right itself.

Then they were past, but the dark shadow of Naar’s thunderhead still loomed ahead of them, and the other Kraan-riders were beginning to rally. Drawing a deep breath, Grey Star opened himself to the elementals he’d called, offering some of his own energy to them. The winds took his gift with glee, and the _Skyrider_ leapt forward as they doubled their efforts.

And then the skyship plunged into darkness.

Almost instantly, the deck bucked and jolted under them, tossed about by the wild winds in the heart of the cloud as a torrent of rain drenched everyone on deck. Through the howl and thunder, Grey Star heard Nolrim’s shrill pipe; lightning flashed, showing dwarves scrambling to adjust the rigging, trusting to their harnesses alone as they furled the sails in until they were nearly lashed to the ship, magic and momentum alone keeping the _Skyrider_ aloft and moving as the ship shuddered and tossed in the storm. For his part, Grey Star gripped the rail fiercely and grimly gritted his teeth, lest he accidentally bite his tongue.

Lightning flashed again, and again, and _again_ , dancing around the _Skyrider_ as it fought its way through the darkness and the rain and the winds; the thunder was so constant that Grey Star could not separate the ever-present rumble from the tumult of wind and driving rain. One bolt lanced down directly on the deck – and then jerked aside, drawn to a metal ring set on the uppermost mast. In the mad flickering light, Grey Star glimpsed Banedon at the helm, clutching the fiercely glowing crystal with an expression of utter concentration on his face.

“We must get down,” Lone Wolf cried, shouting to be heard above wind and rain and thunder. “This storm will tear us apart!”

The piping changed, and Ardim grinned. “Not to worry!” he shouted back, double-checking his harness and then grabbing onto the rail. “We’re in position now!”

“All hands ready!” Banedon’s voice cut through the storm too clearly to be anything other than magically enhanced. “ _Peregrine dive!_ ”

In the one moment of stunned realization that followed those words, Grey Star heard Lone Wolf mutter, “He _wouldn’t_.”

Then the _Skyrider_ fell out of the sky.

Through the ringing in his ears, Grey Star heard the dwarves whooping in glee as the skyship dropped like a stone. As the lightning flashed around them he saw that several had actually _let go_ of the ship, trusting their harnesses to keep them attached as they swept arms and legs back and forth, as though swimming through the air. His own hands were locked in a deathgrip on the rail and his staff; his feet had left the deck entirely…

The darkness suddenly lightened, and they were _beneath_ the great cloud. Vaguely, Grey Star glimpsed leathery wings exploding around them, as the _Skyrider_ dropped straight through the center of a formation of Kraan-riders. But his attention was glued to the ground far, far below but coming all too fast-

Then the straps of the harness dug into his shoulders and back, slamming him down to the deck again. The mad dwarves still clinging to the rigging had unfurled the sails slightly, turning free-fall into a steep, stooping dive. As they spread the sails more and more, the dive flattened out, until at last they were hurtling across the valley parallel to the ground that was nothing more than a black-and-grey blur beneath them-

Distantly, he heard Banedon shout. “Now _jump_!”

And Ardim, grinning broadly, hit the release on their harnesses.

Grey Star didn’t know if they _jumped_ so much as they were _thrown_ from the ship – but the moment they were free of the _Skyrider_ ’s sphere, he felt the charm in his pocket take effect, slowing his freefall as he dropped towards the rocky slope below.

He hit it with a bone-rattling _thump_ , hard enough that he tumbled down the slope for several bruising, dizzying moments before finally killing enough of his momentum to skid to a stop. Still dazed and disoriented, he raised his head and saw the _Skyrider_ careening away, the howls of glee from the dwarves mixing with the furious cries of a flock of Kraan-riders in hot pursuit behind them, flapping furiously in an attempt to catch up with that mad dive. So intent were they on the chase that not a single one seemed to have noticed the two small figures on the ground behind them.

Grey Star drew in a deep, shaking breath, feeling his eyebrow twitching slightly. “They are _mad_.”

Lone Wolf gingerly picked himself up from the slope, looking about as green as Grey Star felt. “ _Agreed._ ”

Still shaking, Grey Star made himself turn and very carefully pick his way back up the slope to where he’d dropped his staff on impact, to keep from tangling himself with it as he rolled, breathing slowly and deeply as he went. Only when it was safely in his hand did he feel steady enough to stand straight, and turn see at what faced them now.

Lightning flashed overhead, revealing a vast basin that curved down from the mountainside slope where they’d landed and stretched away into the distance, where he could just make out the dim shadow of what might have been the nameless mountains that formed the eastern boundary of the Hol-da-Kiem basin. The land between was covered with the dark shadow of forest, nothing like the haunted desert of ash of Desolation Valley or the sere expanses of the Lissan Plains…

But what he saw, in the flickering light of the lightning that continually danced across the heavy clouds looming over the landscape, made him almost wish for those instead. Desolation Valley had been the mark of a single great cataclysm, a single, terrible act of destruction that had wiped an entire kingdom and her people from Magnamund, save the twisted remnants who had, perhaps unmercifully, survived in the partially-sheltered capitol that came to be known as the Forbidden City. But this…

Lightning picked out the twisted, stunted shapes of pines that seemed to have been half-strangled by some massive hand as they grew – the ripple of sharp, coarse grasses that thinned rather than thickened as they neared the glint of small streams running across the valley, as though the water itself were poison.

Grey Star shivered with a chill that had little to do with the wind prying at his rain-soaked clothing, inaudible beneath the incessant growling of thunder. _This place is_ tainted _._

An unexpected flash of white that was _not_ lightning interrupted that thought, drawing his attention northward, towards the point where the range on which they stood crossed with that distant eastern wall. There, gleaming above the darkened plain, rose a strange shape – like the hollow mantle of a white mountain, a curtain of stone swept upwards and curved around to almost meet itself, leaving a single, deep cleft allowing entry to its interior. From this angle, he could just make out a low peak in the heart of the valley inside, the light of the storm glittering oddly at its very tip.

The hollow mountain stood proud, as though defying the shadowy, storm-wrapped darkness that closed in around it. The gleam of its slopes and the dancing lightning overhead reflected brightly back in a dark lake at the foot of the slope, strangely still in the wind and isolated patters of rain. Around it, at the foot of the white mountain, Grey Star could make out the remnants of a city, gleaming silver and white, the lines of the buildings oddly elegant even fallen into ruin.

Among the buildings glowed the baleful fires of an army.

Grey Star released an unsteady breath. “So they arrived ahead of us after all.”

Unexpectedly, Lone Wolf rested a hand on his arm. “Not entirely,” the Kai Lord said, and raised his finger to point. “Look.”

Grey Star had grown up in a similar place, though far smaller in scale. Seeing such a place in ruins, surrounded by darkness and filled with evil, _hurt_. So much so that it was a long minute before he was able to make out what Lone Wolf’s keen eyes had seen.

In the heart of the broken city, at the base of the slope where the great cleft in the mountain opened up to face the lake, orange-and-gold banners snapped and fluttered in the stormy winds.

“The colors of King Ulnar,” Lone Wolf said in a low voice, and the careful neutrality of his tone did not hide the sheer _relief_ in his eyes. “They still fight – some of them, at least.” He studied the landscape a moment longer, then turned to Grey Star. “Do you know where we can find the Nexus?”

Grey Star didn’t even need to look. Now that the first shock had passed, he could feel the energy, singing through every bone in his body.

Like the needle of a compass, his hand rose to point at the heart of the hollow mountain beyond the lake. “There.”

This time, Lone Wolf didn’t even try to hide his relief. “Good. Sommerlund’s forces still hold it.”

Grey Star nodded slowly. “But we must still get there,” he said. That city was at least twenty miles distant, if not more – a full day’s travel, easily. Across ground held by their enemy.

But Lone Wolf was now studying the landscape much closer to them, an odd hint of a smile playing around his lips. “I think I know a way we can make the journey a little easier…” he commented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure we ever learn _why_ Lone Wolf was originally given the name Silent Wolf. The explanation here is mostly headcanon, but – hey, why not? And even if he _weren’t_ surly and taciturn… teaching is a skill you have to learn. And it can be _hard_. Particularly if you yourself happen to be very gifted in the field you’re trying to teach.
> 
> Speaking of, another headcanon bit here – Grey Star starts his series only knowing five of the seven disciplines available. Technically, this is to make the gamebooks more interesting for the player, because you have to choose what skills you’ll have. But in terms of the storyworld, that means he was sent out with his training incomplete. The Shianti _definitely_ would have preferred to have him fully trained first! Which suggests that something forced their hands, making them send him out before they finished training him. My best guess is that said something was either the Shadow Gate – they might not have known _where_ it would be, but perhaps they had some sense that it would be nearby soon – or Shasarak’s alliance with Agarash moving forward. Which definitely would be a major concern! (Although, if they knew about that, you’d think they’d have _warned_ him. About Shasarak being a renegade Shianti, _and_ about his alliance with Agarash!)
> 
> Raw energy versus spells – while narrative spells generally only cost one or two Willpower points, and sometimes have awesome effects, Grey Star has the option of dumping however many Willpower points he wants into a strike, to multiply how much damage he does. (The combat mechanics in fact _require_ him to spend at least one point, which seems a little odd. Presumably he could just hit someone over the head with it without doing anything magical, right? He’s capable of free-climbing most of a cliff, so he’s not exactly a weakling!) Given the relative effects of each type of magic, it seems to me that the staff-blast is a case of being energy-expensive in exchange for being _fast_ and easy to use. And since knockback is a classic mechanic for spellcasters in video and computer games, it seems to make sense that Grey Star’s staff blasts would have similar effects.
> 
> The storm-flying scene is drawn largely from a similar scene in Miyazaki’s _Castle in the Sky_. And _of course_ Banedon and his dwarves would think a stunt like falling out of the sky would be Crazy Awesome. (Lone Wolf and Grey Star think the jury’s still out on the Awesome part – but they’ll vouch for the crazy!)
> 
> The imagery for the white mountain comes from a picture of Mt. Saint Helens reflecting in the waters of Spirit Lake, from Wikipedia. Honestly, I’d originally planned for all of Hol-da-Kiem to be a caldera – the whole “more or less circular bowl surrounded by mountains” fits, and its proximity to the Tentarias would suggest tectonic activity! But then I went back and actually _looked_ , and realized that it’s way too big for that: two hundred miles across, in either direction! That’s four times the size of Yellowstone. For comparison, Lake Toba – which formed in the crater left by the most massive volcanic explosion we know of – is only sixty-two miles long and nineteen miles across.
> 
> If Hol-da-Kiem had been a caldera, an eruption of that scale would probably have wiped out _all life on the planet_. And quite possibly broken the planet.
> 
> But the volcanic setting worked for the sort of imagery I wanted, so I compromised. It’s not _all_ caldera… just the important part!
> 
> And of _course_ Naar Covered the Land in Darkness. Dark Lords do that sort of thing. I think it’s contractually required.


	10. Chapter 10

Lightning flickered and danced overhead, reflecting off spears and helmets as the battalion of Drakkarim soldiers marched into the ruins of the fallen city. More than a few of them glanced at the sky uneasily; in open land, to be caught out of shelter in a thunderstorm was tantamount to suicide. To make matters worse, though as a whole the constant flashes of lightning cast a light that rivaled that of the full moon, it was a flickering, unsteady light, picking out some things in high relief while throwing others into impenetrable darkness, only to reverse a heartbeat later; never the same twice, until one was driven half-mad by shadows and illusory tricks of the eye. More than once, the soldiers tripped on obstacles the treacherous light had hidden from view, and even their commanders had ceased to curse their clumsiness.

Which perhaps why none noticed when a soldier at the very rear of the line suddenly staggered as they entered the city, nearly collapsing before his companion caught him, quickly pulling the man’s arm over his shoulders. A moment of shadow, as lightning cracked on the other side of a shattered wall, throwing the road into pitch darkness-

When the light returned, the two were gone.

Lone Wolf was barely aware of being pulled into the sheltering cover of a broken building, or Grey Star’s urgent whisper demanding to know what was wrong. Every sense he had, every fiber of his very _being_ , was filled by a terrible scream.

- _lost-alone-_ hate _-violated-broken-_ fury- _forgotten-abandoned-_ death-

The city. The ruined city of Hol-da-Kiem _itself_ was crying out in pain and loss and choking, killing darkness.

Distantly, he heard a soft curse, and vaguely felt himself being quickly lowered to sit leaning against a wall, Grey Star crouching beside him. The wizard traced a circle in the air between them, and then reached forward to lay his hand on Lone Wolf’s shoulder.

Misty moon-silver rose in his mind, forcing the twisting pain of darkness back and away. And if ever Lone Wolf had doubted his guess as to the identity of Grey Star’s mysterious teachers, those doubts fled now, for even that dying flicker of light crying in the darkness seemed to calm at the touch of that light, a sense of ease, of _not-forgotten, not-alone, lost-child-found_ …

Vision clearing, Lone Wolf blinked, Grey Star’s worried face finally coming into focus before him. “Thank you,” he managed, and coughed, trying to clear his throat of the strange hoarseness that seemed to have come over it.

Grey Star’s lips thinned. “Forgive me,” the wizard said, clearly upset. “I had forgotten – this place has been _tainted_ , and your Disciplines would render you vulnerable to it…” He hesitated. “Lone Wolf?”

Confused, Lone Wolf raised a hand to his own face in the shadows of his stolen helmet – and felt wetness. Wetness that could not be rain, for though lightning flashed and thunder rolled endlessly overhead, no rain fell in the basin itself, and their clothing and hair had long since dried during their journey to the shattered city.

Tears. He’d been _crying_.

_But not my own tears. The tears of Hol-da-Kiem itself._

“This once was a place of light and wonder,” he said slowly, tilting his head back to study the broken walls, stark against the low-hanging clouds and the glare of lightning. “But now…”

Grey Star’s shoulders slumped slightly as he sighed. Clumsy in his stolen armor, he lowered himself to the ground to sit beside Lone Wolf, leaning his staff against the wall at his side, so as not to knock loose the spearpoint they’d hastily attached in order to disguise the long weapon. “Yes,” he said, voice soft and strangely sad. “I have seen the ash-desert of Desolation Valley. And we both saw that dying fragment that was once a world. But this place… it is as though you returned to the ruins of your monastery, and found it the abode of necromancers. It is _wrong_. And all the more so because once it was bright.” Pulling his legs against his chest, he looked up at the clouds as well. “I do not think I will be calling on the elements. Not here.”

Surprised, Lone Wolf turned his head to look at the wizard more carefully. Something in the tone of his voice…

“You have seen the Kai Monastery,” he suddenly realized.

Grey Star started slightly and hesitated, eyes darting sideways to glance at Lone Wolf’s face. But after a long moment, he nodded.

“…How?” Lone Wolf asked at last, giving in to curiosity. It would do little harm to pause and rest for a moment; the trek to the city had been long, and fraught with tension. But Banedon’s mad flight had served them doubly; though none seemed to have noticed that the _Skyrider_ had dropped two passengers, he doubted _any_ could have missed the skyship’s screaming passage. And Naar’s commanders, whoever they might be, were not fools. Within minutes of their arrival, he and Grey Star had seen the troops mobilizing to investigate.

But the plains of Hol-da-Kiem were vast – and Banedon’s trajectory had carried him far inwards, towards the center of the basin. All eyes had turned to follow him – leaving none to mark two small figures making their way on foot along the edge of the northern mountains. Then, as they’d neared the city, they’d located and overpowered two foot soldiers, using the stolen armor to blend with one of the returning columns to slip past the outer defenses.

But the most dangerous leg of their journey still lay before them. This side of Hol-da-Kiem was in the hands of Naar’s forces, and they would have to pass through to reach the besieged Sommlendings at the foot of the white mountain. Lone Wolf doubted that they would be able to make their way solely by subterfuge.

Either way, they needed a moment to rest and recover their strength. And… he was _curious_.

Grey Star hesitated, glancing at the staff leaning on the wall beside him. “I told you that my teachers were not warriors,” he said at last. “And for certain reasons, I could not seek out others to teach me what they could not. But their magics did allow me to _watch_.”

Lone Wolf felt his eyes widen. “You scried upon the Monastery.”

Grey Star raised his chin almost defiantly, but his eyes were sorrowful. “Rarely. I am no Kai Lord, born with the inner gifts. My other studies demanded much of my time and energy. But… yes. I watched Patient Fire teaching the younger students many times.”

Lone Wolf settled back for a moment, testing his heart. He expected anger – and perhaps some did lurk there. The arts of the Kai Lords were meant for members of the Order.

And yet, what he felt most was… _relief_. Relief… and the new sting of an old grief.

“Then you were likely a more dedicated student then I,” he said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. After all, Grey Star could surely have been no older than six when the Kai Monastery had fallen twelve years ago. And yet he still remembered the weaponsmaster’s favorite words of wisdom. Whereas Lone Wolf…

He had respected them, yes. Cared. But he’d had no patience for their lessons. No appreciation for the wisdom they offered. Not until they were lost to him forever.

Grey Star started, plainly taken aback by Lone Wolf’s reply. “But I am no Kai Lord. And your actions since the Monastery fell have shown you to truly be a credit to your mentors. You _survived_ , where they did not. Surely they could not have asked for any greater reward!”

Comforting words. If only they’d been true. “A tree branch.”

Grey Star blinked. “What?”

Lone Wolf looked away. “I did not survive because I was a skilled student. I survived because I _was not there_.” He drew in a deep breath – for this part of the tale, he’d never admitted to any. “I was collecting firewood in the forest when the attack came upon them. I tried to return, to help as I could… but I was unprepared for the sudden darkness. I ran headlong into a low-hanging branch.”

He rubbed at the side of his head, where the lump had once been. Sometimes, in the dark of night, he still remembered that moment of impact, too sudden to even be _pain_ , and the ache in head and heart alike, when he’d wakened to ruined walls and the bodies of his fellow Kai Lords. He had never forgiven himself for that moment of carelessness, even though his mind knew that if he had not knocked himself out so ignominiously, he would simply have died with the rest…

An unexpected sound made him blink. Grey Star was _snickering_.

“Sorry,” the young wizard gasped, hugging his ribs and biting his lip, eyes dancing. “But I would wager that there will one day be a shrine to that branch!”

Lone Wolf stared. “We are followers of Kai-” he began.

“That does not stop the people from needing comfort in the uncertainties of life,” Grey Star retorted, still grinning. Straightening where he sat, he put his hands together in mock-prayer. “O Guardian Branch, please watch over my son in battle. O Guardian Branch, please open the path for the supplies. O Guardian Branch, please fall on the head of my mother-in-law…”

Lone Wolf should have been furious. He should have roundly denounced the wizard for his disrespect.

Instead, he reached out to cuff the youngster over the head – and missed, because suddenly _he_ was laughing as well. For though he’d never thought of it in such terms before…

Last of the Kai Lords. Savior of Sommerlund. Saved from the massacre by running headfirst into a _tree_.

For a long minute, the two of them sat in the shattered remains of the ancient city, beneath a storm-shrouded sky streaked by lightning, and _laughed_ , fighting to keep their voices low so that the endless thunder would disguise the sound – no easy task, when only a single wall of broken stone stood between them and the road.

Clutching at his ribs as he fought to _breathe_ , Lone Wolf felt… cleansed. As though an ancient, bitter poison had finally run its course and been washed from his veins. And if, perhaps, the laughter were a touch more desperate than the humor warranted…

_Then perhaps it is all the more warranted_ , Lone Wolf reflected, as they finally calmed and regained their equilibrium. _Grey Star learned to laugh to survive the weight of fate. That… is not a bad skill to have, I think._

 But they had lingered as long as they dared. Drawing in a deep breath, Lone Wolf pushed himself back to his feet, offering a hand to help pull Grey Star up as well. “We must move on,” he said, scanning the ruins around them. Although Naar’s unnatural storm clouded sun and stars and moon, he had trained in the Discipline of the Pathfinder; he knew the pull of _north_ , and could match that against their destination. But knowing which direction to go and knowing _how_ to reach it were different matters entirely.

Careful to position himself so that no untimely flash of lightning would show his silhouette against the sky, he peered around the sheltering wall Grey Star had used to hide them, and found that the road was empty for the moment; the troop they’d used to disguise their entrance into the city had long since moved on.

_But we do not know how long that will last_ , he thought, taking up his stolen spear again and carefully resettling the armor, as Grey Star quickly double-checked that the spearhead they had lashed to his staff to hide it was still secure. For a moment Lone Wolf hesitated, weighing their options. But they had no way of knowing when another battalion would pass. They would have to risk moving on their own, and hope that their disguises would hold without a crowd to blend into. In which case…

Stepping out of cover, Lone Wolf began to walk more-or-less casually down the road; a calculated gamble, perhaps, but better to seem as though they had the right to be here, then be caught skulking and be found out as spies.

_Or perhaps worse –_ not _be found out, and be executed out of hand as deserters_ , Lone Wolf granted, with grim amusement.

Even so, they stayed near the walls, where the uncertain light worked in their favor, casting them in shadow as often as not – although that, too, carried risks. Keen even in darkness as Lone Wolf’s vision was, the flickering light played tricks on him, and the occasional bright flashes prevented his eyes from adapting fully to the darkness. He found himself wishing he _had_ taken the hard-shod Drakkarim boots, rather than gambling on his own softer-soled ones, after the third time he’d stumbled painfully over fallen stones that he had looked straight at without _seeing_.

With the distraction of picking a relatively safe course, and the tension of listening for more soldiers approaching from either ahead or behind, he did not immediately notice that something was wrong. When he did, at first it was too subtle for him to be sure. Some fifty paces on, however, he was certain: the road was _curving_ , a slight but definite arc leading to the side, away from the white mountain and the Nexus.

Dismayed, he hesitated. They could leave the road – but they would be even more out-of-place if caught there, and risk delays in the form of dead ends or broken ground. Far more dangerous, however, was the risk of unstable buildings, or even deliberate traps laid by Naar’s forces.

_Naar knows the Kai Lords have ever been skilled in the ways of stealth and concealment. He would anticipate such a course, surely…_

“Lone Wolf?” Grey Star asked softly. “What…” Suddenly, the wizard stiffened. “Do you hear that?”

Startled, Lone Wolf concentrated on his ears, rather than their direction – and immediately realized what Grey Star had heard. Not the sound of approaching feet, but something more ominous – the low murmur of many quiet voices. And when he raised his head and drew in a deep breath to test the air, a hint of smoke lingered at the back of his throat.

Heart sinking, he exchanged an uneasy glance with his companion, and began to move forward again, moving with true stealth this time. If the signs truly indicated what he feared…

They did.

Not far ahead, the road opened up on one side to a broad, open plaza – a gathering place of some kind, perhaps, assuming Naar’s forces had not simply cleared away the ruins to make space for themselves. For that was what they found: a campground, the force within easily five hundred strong or more, gathered around the dancing flames of campfires as the men cooked or checked weapons or talked quietly, not unlike any force of fighting men he’d encountered during his travels across the war-torn Stornlands as he sought the first of the Lorestones.

Cursing silently to himself, Lone Wolf drew back from that open space. It seemed that they would have to risk making their own way through the ruins after all; he did not trust that their disguises would hold in so large a gathering…

Behind him, Grey Star made a soft noise of surprise.

Alarmed, he looked back – but the wizard was gazing, not at the force before them, but off to the side, somewhere beyond the line of ruined buildings.

“What is it?” he whispered, careful to soften the sibilants so that they would not carry in the quiet.

“I thought I felt…” Grey Star trailed off as his eyes widened suddenly. Then he was no longer staring into the distance, but carefully scanning the buildings nearby. After a moment, he lightly tapped Lone Wolf’s shoulder; a silent _follow me_. Taken by surprise, Lone Wolf did so as the wizard led them across the road, and discovered that what he had taken for the shadow of another ruined building was in fact a narrow side-street opening onto the main thoroughfare they had been traveling.

This alley was far darker than the road beyond, shadowed from the flashing white fire in the sky from every direction save directly overhead. In a strange way, that made their passage easier; no longer forced to move apace, they could slow, feeling their way when necessary around fallen stone and the stunted growth that had managed to set root and grow over centuries of abandonment. Although it became less necessary, as they neared the bright opening of the far end.

Wary, Lone Wolf caught Grey Star by the shoulder. The wizard hesitated, then nodded, moving to the side and allowing Lone Wolf to take the lead again.

Flattening himself to the wall as he drew near the opening, Lone Wolf carefully slowed his breathing, and leaned out just enough to see around the corner.

The flash of lightning illuminated a circular courtyard of white stone. Around the edges, he could make out what clearly had once been intricately intertwined fountains flowing among a circle of gardens at one point, graceful footbridges crossing the streams to lead to the center. But the gardens had grown wild and twisted, the trees half-rotted if not dead entirely, fallen leaf matter choking off the free flow of the water and leaving only small, stagnant pools behind.  On one side of the circle, he could make out the glow of firelight through an opening in the hedge; this place, it seemed, was on the very edge of the great encampment they had just left. But the wild growth also provided some shelter from watching eyes, and he relaxed slightly, shifting his head slightly to peer through the shadowy branches to the center of the courtyard.

At the heart of the courtyard rose a tall dais, easily the height of a fully-grown man, made of a white stone flecked with veins of silver and translucent crystal. Upon the dais rose a towering structure unlike any Lone Wolf had ever seen: a great, free-standing arch of two great pillars rising up, slowly tapering as they went until they were crossed – first by a straight beam, and then by a gracefully upward-curving top. A strange mist seemed to twine around it, as though the ghosts of long-dead vines still danced to some unheard song.

“What is that?” he breathed, voice low.

“A Gate,” Grey Star murmured. “You might call it… the key to a permanent portal. An anchoring point, of sorts.” He released a long, slow breath. “I had heard of them. But I never saw one before. Save perhaps…” He hesitated, then shook his head, silent.

Any further conversation was abruptly cut short as they suddenly heard voices over the sound of wind and thunder.

“-say they won’t be ready to march for another half-day.” The Drakkari words were calm and measured, but spoken with a hint of wariness; the voice of a speaker delivering news he knew would be unwelcome.

Someone cursed angrily, in the same tongue. “We have no time for that lazy fool’s stalling. That skyship will return, and it will not be alone. Our master wants the Sommlending purged from this place, and I _will_ see it done!”

Lone Wolf stiffened, at last seeing the two dark-armored figures standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the dais and the Gate.

“What of the scouting teams?” one demanded. His voice was that of the second speaker, his armor the ornate style of a high-ranking leader. With a shock, Lone Wolf realized he _recognized_ that armor. This was the very commander who had almost discovered him, in the courtyard of the broken keep.

The other Drakkarim, clearly his second, replied, “They have returned. The Sommlending are well entrenched – but their lines are weak. This is not one of their fortress cities.” A dark smile slipped into his words. “They have no walls to hide behind, here.”

_They’re right,_ Lone Wolf suddenly realized, with a sickening jolt. Nowhere in this city had he seen a single guard tower, a single defensive wall. This was a place that had been built in _peace_ , never designed to hold off an invasion…

_King Ulnar’s forces are besieged in an indefensible location._

There was a smirk in the commander’s voice to match the dark smile of his lieutenant. “Very well. Signal the troops to begin their preparations. If those fools on the other side wish to wait – then they may miss the glory entirely, and answer to our master himself regarding their tardiness!”

“As you command.” The lieutenant bowed, then turned and strode away, vanishing through the opening in the bushes leading to the nearby camp. And the commander…

Turned and headed for a different exit. Walking straight past the entrance of their small alley.

Lone Wolf’s hand tightened on his spear. All he need do was step out and _thrust_ …

Grey Star’s hand clamped on his arm. The shock was just enough for Lone Wolf’s own better senses to stay his hand. Killing the Drakkarim commander now would not stop the attack – only betray that someone had infiltrated the city. Assuming he was able to kill the man swiftly and silently, before he had time to raise the alarm or cry out – which was not as sure as Lone Wolf liked. The Drakkarim chose their commanders by battle prowess.

Releasing a long, silent breath, he forced his grip on the spear to ease, as the enemy commander disappeared into the shadows.

But to his shock, Grey Star’s grip only tightened.

“Guard me,” he whispered fiercely.

Startled, Lone Wolf turned to look at him. Gone was the laughing youth of earlier. The wizard’s eyes were sharp and intent as he quickly loosened the collar of his armor, enough to draw out that strange red gemstone and cradle it in his hand, cupping the other around it to dim the flare as the stone burst into glittering red light.

Then, to Lone Wolf’s alarm, he stepped out and into the courtyard.

Hand tightening on his weapon all over again, Lone Wolf quickly followed the wizard out into the open, scanning every shadow and every entrance for any hint of approaching enemies. But now the same unreliable play of flickering light and bramble-cast shadows that had served them thus far worked against him, and he could only hope that their disguises as soldiers would hold if anyone should come upon them, as Grey Star circled around to face the Gate squarely, his eyes distant and yet intently focused as he studied it.

But strangely, there was no sense of building power – nothing like the magics that had swirled around the young wizard as he prepared to open the portal home to Magnamund. Instead, he simply stood there for long minutes, as Lone Wolf focused all his senses, Kai and mundane alike, to watch for any hint of approach or murmur of alarm from the all-too-near enemy campfires-

Then the red light of the gem abruptly faded, and Grey Star quickly strode forward, climbing the stairs to the dais itself. There, he bent and tucked the red stone into a shadow at the base of one of the columns.

Then he turned and quickly descended, readily following Lone Wolf’s lead as the Kai Lord ducked back into the cover of the shadows.

Lone Wolf let himself breathe a little easier, and gave the wizard a sharp look. “What was that?”

Grey Star shook his head. “A fool’s hope, perhaps,” he said. “But I had to try.”

Lone Wolf’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean to block their reinforcements?”

“I hope that it may,” Grey Star said quietly, glancing back up at the looming Gate for a moment before turning grim eyes on Lone Wolf again. “But we cannot count on that. And it will not stop the attack. We must get to your countrymen, and quickly.”

Lone Wolf nodded slowly. And braced himself.

“I believe,” he said quietly, “that you can find your way in this place better than I.”

Grey Star was silent.

Lone Wolf waited, never letting his quiet, steady gaze falter. But he did not push, either. The secrets Grey Star protected were not simply his own.

At last, the wizard drew in a careful breath – and let it go in a long, silent sigh. “The roads will veer in a left-hand spiral, radiating from the heart of the city,” he said quietly. “Follow them, and we will reach our goal in the end – but there should be cross-paths through the arcs that will shorten the distance considerably.”

Lone Wolf began to nod – and then, reconsidering, deepened the motion into a slight bow, silently acknowledging the significance of Grey Star’s unspoken admission.

Whatever the younger man’s reasons for silence, he had sacrificed it for a greater cause. None knew better than Lone Wolf how rare that truly was.

Straightening, he opened his mouth to speak – and stiffened as the sound of marching feet became audible over the rumble of thunder.

Grey Star’s breath caught, and his lips thinned to a grim line. “They’ve begun mobilizing their forces.”

Lone Wolf nodded, hand tightening reflexively on his spear. “Then we have very little time,” he said darkly.

Little time – and with Naar’s forces on the move, their odds of being able to pass unseen had become far lower.

_But unseen does not matter, so long as we go_ unnoticed _._ And in the chaos of moving troops into position…

He spared a moment to shake the tension from his shoulders, then straightened them in determination. “But this may serve our purposes as well,” he said, quickly retreating to the shadows and making for one of the openings of a main road leading away from the Gate at an angle that would lead them away from the encampment, and deeper into the city.

Luck was with them, indeed; the first group of soldiers they found was marching in the right direction. The two waited for them to pass, and then ghosted into the rear of the line. The tactic might not have worked if the soldiers had been formed up in their ranks – but they were not, allowing the addition of two more to slip past their notice.

But they could not count on that luck holding, Lone Wolf knew. When the column reached their assigned position, they would form ranks – and notice that they had acquired some spares.

More importantly, now that he knew of it, he could tell that the road was beginning to curve again. In his mind he quietly acknowledged the subtle nod the city’s long-ago builders had made to defense. Whatever other purpose the swirling pattern of the roads might serve, in practical terms it served nearly as well as a defensive wall, forcing the invaders to break up their forces and waste time and energy following a circuitous route to reach the center.

But they did not have such time, not if they wished to reach the Sommlending force and warn them before battle was joined. However, escaping unnoticed would be trickier than joining the column. Catching Grey Star’s eye in the shadows, Lone Wolf subtly jerked his chin to the northeast, towards the glimmering white mountain that now rose high above them.

Ever so slightly, the wizard’s head dipped in a nod.

After what seemed an eternity, but could have been only a minute or two at most, a light tap and a flicker of Grey Star’s eyes drew Lone Wolf’s attention to a darker shadow between the buildings lining the road a short distance ahead. Careful to time their movement so that each step vanished into the general movement of the soldiers around them, Lone Wolf ghosted to the edge of the battalion, Grey Star following close behind him. For a moment, he feared they would not be in time, and be forced either to risk a sudden dash or to go farther out of their way until the next crossroad – but the combination of a soldier ahead of them stumbling and a flicker of shadow as lightning blazed low in the sky beyond one of the broken walls let them step out of the march and into the shadows of the alley.

There they paused, unwilling to risk stumbling over rubble in the darkness until the battalion had passed. Then they made their way through the darkened alley until they reached the next open road, this one empty of soldiers for the moment. Even so, they kept to the shadows, and quickly ducked into the shelter of the next alley they found, uneasy about remaining too long in the open.

The sound of marching feet warned them that the next street would not be so quiet. Glancing ahead, Lone Wolf mentally cursed. A large battalion of Drakkarim was just beginning to pass – in the wrong direction. They had no choice save to wait in the darkness for the soldiers to pass, though Lone Wolf found himself clenching his fist around the stolen spear in desperate frustration, acutely aware that every lost moment placed his countrymen and their mission in further jeopardy.

But they had one advantage. It seemed that Naar’s forces were either unaware of or unwilling to use the shadowy alleys connecting the broader roads; he could see no sign of recent passage. A sensible enough precaution on the part of the Drakkarim, given their numbers – but it allowed Grey Star and Lone Wolf to cut directly across the arc of the city while the enemy was forced to follow that long spiral.

Then, as they emerged from the next alley into the lightning-bright main road – the unmistakable sound of sword against sword reached his ears.

Starting in alarm, Lone Wolf reflexively began to run forward, for fighting in this place could only mean the presence of allies – but his senses screamed _danger_ at him just before his ears caught another, far more dangerous sound. Turning on his heel, he lunged, shoving Grey Star back into the shadows of the alley and throwing himself down to the scant shelter of a scraggly growth of thorns that had set root in what once might have been a decorative garden scant moments before a fresh troop of soldiers came into sight, armor jangling and feet pounding the ground in a steady trot as though they could keep such a pace all day.

Their commander ran at the rear of the column. “Curse this madman’s maze of a city!” he snarled, as the troop passed so close to Lone Wolf’s hiding place that a pebble kicked up by a booted foot stung the Kai Lord’s forehead. “Hurry! We cannot allow the Sommlending spies to escape and warn the others of our movements!”

Lone Wolf remained frozen as they passed, caught between two warring impulses. He burned to go to his countrymen, to aid them and seek aid in return. But in this dark city they dared not take careless risks…

“Go!” Grey Star pushed himself up from where he’d fallen sprawled on the ground of the alley, his worn and weathered grey robe blending almost seamlessly into the shadowy stones. “I will follow at my own pace – _go_!”

Lone Wolf gritted his teeth and sprang to his feet.

No time to seek out another crossroad, not with the sound of combat in his ears and the Drakkarim swiftly gathering. Before the company of soldiers had even traveled fifty feet from his location, he darted across the road behind them and into the ruins on the far side.

Dodging through the remains of broken buildings, he gave himself wholly over to the instincts and reflexes of a Kai Lord, trusting to his otherly senses to alert him to weak ground or loose stones, unstable buildings or dangerous footing, praying that Grey Star would be able to find his own, safer path through the maze. He leapt past a fall of bricks as the back of his mind whispered _loose, don’t trust_ , hitting the brief space of open ground that might once have been a room in a roll and coming up in a run, clearing the half-standing remains of a door even as he heard the surface he’d landed upon crack dangerously – there must have been a cellar beneath it, weakening the ancient floor. Then _up_ , surprising even himself as he quickly scaled a wall and pulled himself through an opening into the second floor of a relatively intact building. Now he had no choice but to slow briefly, staying close to the wall where the floor would be better supported and attempting to rest as little weight as possible on any one location as he gingerly made his way to the far side where the outer wall had given way completely, letting the pale, flickering light of the lightning pour into the room – along with the clash of swords and the cries of battle.

Lone Wolf paused at the edge, seeing now why his instincts had sent him _up_ as he looked down over a low wall sectioning the road away from the ancient complex of buildings he’d just crossed. In the street below, dark-clad Drakkarim battled a small group of Sommlending soldiers who had taken shelter in one of the ruins on the far side, forcing the Drakkirim to pass through a guarded bottleneck. Even as he watched, a large Drakkari soldier choked and fell back from the doorway, an arrow in his side. Following the line of the shaft, Lone Wolf looked up and saw the commander of the Sommlendings standing at a window not unlike where Lone Wolf now stood, calmly fitting another arrow to his bow as his eyes set on another target.

A _familiar_ commander, though Lone Wolf had last seen him over four years ago, in the besieged mining town of Ruanon.

_Captain D’Val!_

But the captain was not the only archer on the battlefield. A movement in the rear ranks of the attacking Drakkarim brought Lone Wolf’s attention to a crossbowman as he lifted his weapon, sighting along it at the captain.

Spear in hand, Lone Wolf leapt from his hiding place before he could think twice.

The archer himself broke the Lone Wolf’s fall, crumpling beneath his weight with the crack of breaking bone as his bolt flew wide to ricochet harmlessly off stone. Still slightly out of breath from the dash and the jarring drop, Lone Wolf whipped the spear about in a vicious arc, forcing the Drakkarim to give ground in their shock as they turned to face the new threat and found what appeared to be one of their own attacking. In that moment of space, Lone Wolf made sure of the archer beneath his feet with one short, vicious jab of the spear, and then lunged to engage the next, giving up the advantage of range for the sake of clearer footing and greater confusion among his enemies.

There was no time to reach for the Sommerswerd, sheathed at his back beneath the Drakkarim cloak to keep unwanted eyes from noting the weapon that no common foot soldier should have been carrying – but though the spear was not his first choice as a weapon, Lone Wolf knew it well enough.

Keeping the spear close to his body, he slammed the blade forward and home, aiming for the weak point where plate gave way to mail, and hearing his opponent’s breathless gasp as the tip of the spear punched through the rings that were better suited to defend against a sword’s slash than a piercing point. Kicking the dying soldier away, he shifted his grip and quickly turned, using the haft to trip a nearby foe before the man had time to react. Surprise was a powerful ally; he was able to finish that man and engage a third before his opponents were able to react and realize that they outnumbered him greatly.

Over the din, however, he heard a Sommlending war cry; the cornered soldiers had taken advantage of their enemies’ sudden confusion, surging out of their shelter to strike. The attack distracted his opponents, and he seized the opening gladly, ruthlessly harrying those around him, taking killing blows where he could, but aiming as much to hinder and confuse as to slay; in the time it would take to kill one, he could wound or trip three, and with the Sommlending joining the battle, those he put down even temporarily would have no time to recover-

Someone shouted. Turning quickly about, Lone Wolf glimpsed lightning shining on an arrowhead just as it left the bow, aiming for his heart. He threw himself desperately out of the way, knowing he would not be able to evade completely.

The arrow glanced off empty air with a faint shimmer of moon-silver.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lone Wolf saw Grey Star standing in the road, one hand outstretched. But he was busy wrenching the Drakkarim helmet from his own head. “Captain D’Val!” he shouted, praying he caught the man’s attention before he took aim at the wizard. “Stay your hand!”

“Who are you to know…” the captain began to demand – and then gasped as he took in Lone Wolf’s features, paling as he realized who he had just nearly slain. “Lone Wolf!”

Grabbing the edge of the building, D’Val carefully swung down from his perch, letting go to drop the last few feet to the ground. As he did so, Lone Wolf moved forward to meet him. The Sommlending soldiers not engaged in finishing off the Drakkarim gave way before him, no few of them staring – either in awe at meeting the legendary last of the Kai Lords, or in confusion at seeing him without his green cloak, dressed in the armor of the enemy.

D’Val showed no such hesitation, moving forward to grip Lone Wolf’s wrist in a warrior’s clasp. “Praise be to Kai,” he said warmly. “We saw the skyship pass earlier, and feared you would not be able to break through.” He glanced at the bow in his other hand and winced. “Forgive me. In the darkness, we saw only a sudden commotion – I had no idea you were not one of them…”

Lone Wolf shook his head. “There was no harm done,” he said, as Grey Star began to approach and then hesitated. He turned and beckoned the younger man forward; Grey Star had discarded his helmet as well, but D’Val’s men were eyeing him warily, clearly not certain of him. To D’Val, he said, “I fear we have no time for pleasantries. The Drakkarim are preparing a full attack, and they will have reinforcements arriving soon. Grey Star and I must reach the Nexus, and quickly.”

Nodding grimly, D’Val signaled for his men to begin forming up. “Then follow me, and we will escort you to the king.”

For a moment, Lone Wolf could only stare in shock, not certain he believed his own ears. “Wait. King Ulnar… is _here_?”

_~Nexus of Light~_

Prince Hamil’s grandfather was not a young man, though strain and worry and concentration had etched far deeper lines into his face than mere years alone. But he carried himself as though the weight of his heavy armor were no more than an afterthought, and his hands bore the calluses of one who was all too familiar with the grip of a sword’s hilt.

“My liege. What are you _doing_ here?” Lone Wolf demanded through gritted teeth as he stormed into the largely intact building that the Sommlending forces had taken as their headquarters.

The officers gathered around the king frowned slightly even as the Kai Lord dropped to kneel, likely because his fierce glare never wavered from the king – but Ulnar simply raised a hand, cutting short anything they might have said and Lone Wolf’s words as well in a single gesture.

Meeting Lone Wolf’s eyes levelly, the Sommlending king said calmly, “I am here because there are limits to what even a king may ask of his people.”

Lone Wolf slowly rose to his feet, eyes troubled. “My lord…”

Unnoticed in the background, Grey Star bit his lip. He’d seen the maps. Hol-da-Kiem was a vast basin surrounded by towering mountains, the only possible passes along the southern border, opening straight into the deadly wastes of the Sadi Desert. Other routes through the mountains might exist, but if so, none knew them; the only maps that remained of this place were locked away in the archives of his family. Even those were thousands of years old, from long before the basin’s fall to emptiness and then darkness.

The Sommlending forces here stood open-eyed in the jaws of a deathtrap. If fortune turned her face away, they would have nowhere to run.

Grey Star had heard the tales of what the Drakkarim did to enemies who defied them so much as once.

King Ulnar was surely as aware of this as they. But he simply nodded. “My men knew what they faced in coming here,” he said. “There was only one way to ensure that their hearts held strong, even in such straits. There are times, Kai Lord, when a king must ask his people to die for their land. But there also comes a time when a king must prove the worth of that sacrifice – by asking the same of himself.” He drew in a deep breath, released it, and shook his head. “The Sommerswerd has been the symbol of our land since the day the god Kai gifted it into the hands of my ancestors. I will not see that charge fail. And while Prince Hamil is still too young to rule, my daughter, Princess Imelda, is prepared to assume the throne, should the worst befall and has been since the day of her brother’s death.”

Then, unexpectedly, the king’s bearing softened slightly. “How does my grandson fare, Lone Wolf?”

“He is well and safe in Boradon, a guest in the home of King Ryvin and under the guardianship of Lord Rimoah himself, though he eagerly awaits the day when he may return to your side.” There was a hint of thickness in Lone Wolf’s voice, and for a moment the Kai Lord’s gaze shifted away from King Ulnar’s as he coughed, rather unconvincingly.

King Ulnar made no comment on it, however. “Then both as the king of Sommerlund and as a grandfather, I am in their debt.”

Lone Wolf shook his shoulders out subtly, straightening. “All of Sommerlund owes much to the dwarves of Bor. It was by their hand that the physical form of the Sommerswerd was reforged – at great cost.” Reaching under his green cloak – for as soon as they’d passed the barricades and into the region of the city controlled by Sommerlund’s forces, he and Grey Star had done away with their disguises, lest someone else make the same deadly mistake that Captain D’Val had – he unhooked the sheathed Sommerswerd from his belt and offered it hilt-first to the king.

Ulnar took the sword without drawing it, sheath and all. Holding it up, he studied the hilt thoughtfully for a long moment, before lowering it and setting his hand on the grip at last. He only drew it a mere handspan or so, to study the play of lantern-light on the fire-flicker ripples hidden in gleaming metal.

After a long moment, he breathed a near-silent sigh and quietly slid the blade home again, holding it level in both hands as he offered it back to Lone Wolf. “When we heard what had befallen, I almost did not believe you,” he admitted softly, as the commanders beside the table murmured quietly. “But holding it in my hands now… I can do nothing else. This _is_ the Sommerswerd; it could never be mistaken for any other. And yet, it is not quite the same blade that you carried back from Durenor in our hour of need, twelve years ago.” For the first time, uncertainty lurked in his eyes, as Lone Wolf reclaimed the sword and returned it to his belt. “You truly believe it can be fully restored?”

Grey Star stepped forward. “It can,” he answered for Lone Wolf.

King Ulnar glanced at him – a glance that suddenly turned sharp-edged and wary, to Grey Star’s surprise. Then the pieces fell into place, and it was all he could do to hide a wince. To the peoples of the north, to be Shadakine was to be a follower of Shasarak – and while the renegade had focused his attentions on subduing the southern reaches of Magnamund, below the crack of the Tentarius, pirates who all but flew his flag had ravaged every seacoast throughout the land. And continued to do so – Sado fought to curtail their marauding, but as yet his attention was still taken up with putting out fires kindled by Shasarak’s deposed minions across the land, and building a stable base by which a regent might be able to rule and safe-guard the people without gaining the power to oppress.

Unexpectedly, Lone Wolf stepped back a pace to stand beside him, dropping on hand on Grey Star’s shoulder.

“My liege,” he said, as formal as Grey Star had ever heard the man. “I present to you the wizard Grey Star, hero of the Free Peoples of Shadaki. It is only thanks to his insight and quick action that Prince Hamil and I both still breathe. He has offered his skills in magic, to restore the Sommerswerd to its full powers.” The Kai Lord’s eyes flickered to him as he added, carefully neutral, “A task that entails far more risk to himself than he has admitted, I suspect.”

Taken off guard, Grey Star winced. _How did he…?_

It was only as he saw a shadow fall over Lone Wolf’s features that he suddenly realized – Lone Wolf _hadn’t_ known. Not until Grey Star’s own reaction had confirmed his suspicions.

The Kai Lord opened his mouth, as though to say something – and then looked away, his lips pressed together in a thin, grim line.

_We both know the stakes._

Grey Star straightened. “The dangers are not so great as you may think,” he said. “Were I attempting to enchant the Sommerswerd wholly anew, with my own powers alone – yes, this would be folly. But the heart of the magic remains in the Sommerswerd, though for now it is powerless and sleeping. And the power needed for the spells will be found within the Nexus itself. My role will be merely to act as conduit, to bring them together and make them whole.” He raised his chin, drawing Lone Wolf’s gaze to his own level, steady eyes. “I will not be asked to pay Tasilde’s price.”

Although the price he _might_ pay… was something else entirely. He had studied the spells woven into the very essence of the Sommerswerd as deeply as possible – but he was painfully aware that it was far beyond anything he had ever dared to attempt before.

Lone Wolf drew in a deep breath, then nodded shortly.

Grey Star turned his attention to King Ulnar. “The ritual must be performed at the Nexus. There should be a shrine, in the heart of the white mountain…”

Ulnar nodded briskly. “I know the place of which you speak. We still hold it – but Drakkarim infiltrators have made it past our barricades many times; my soldiers must be vigilant both without and within. Bide for a short time, and I will gather guards to go with you…”

Grey Star shook his head. “I fear that would not be wise,” he said.

Lone Wolf cursed softly. “You believe Naar will seek to possess them?” he asked grimly.

“I know he will,” Grey Star replied. “He has not accomplished so much to stand idly by as we undo everything he sought to wreak in this scheme. I do not think he could take either of us, even if he tried – but anyone nearby will be in danger.”

Lone Wolf nodded before turning to look at King Ulnar again. “And there is another danger. Naar’s forces are moving into position to attack even now. And reinforcements await on the other side of the mystic gate.”

One of the captains cursed viciously, fist striking the table. “I do not think we can hold against another assault – even without our enemy swelling his numbers!”

King Ulnar’s hand rested on his sword. “Then we will not. We will go to meet them instead!” Then, to the shock of everyone in the room, he unhooked the scabbard from his belt and held it out to Lone Wolf. “Take this, and go quickly. We will buy you what time we can. And may Ishir and Kai watch over us all!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that earlier I analogized the Drakkarim to the classic Barbarian Horde of real life – that being the Mongols – then yes, they would _not_ be happy about being caught out in a lightning storm. Even in less open areas, it is understood that if you’re riding outside and a storm blows up, _get off the horse_ – both because the added height makes you a lightning target, and because _horses_ know that they are lightning targets and thus tend to bolt! Plus, to quote a brilliant cover of Michael Longcor’s “Pennsic IV: You Can’t Swing a Broadsword When You’re in the Forest”: “Yeeeeeah. You wanna have a good time, _you_ try walking around in a lightning storm wearing a metal suit.”
> 
> And when it comes to the Mongols… yeah. Read about Hulagu’s sack of Baghdad in 1258. _Ouch_. The Mongols offered to let enemies surrender once. If you tried to fight them, and lost…
> 
> It is canon that Lone Wolf is psychically sensitive enough that under certain circumstances, it’s actually a _disadvantage_ , where he takes damage from the presence of intense evil. (Then again – this is an Everything Trying to Kill You world, turned Up to Eleven. There’s even an instance where you end up in a life-or-death combat struggle _with a door_. A mundane door. Granted, a mundane door with a rusty lock that you’re trying to force open before a torrent of acid eats you alive, yes, but still. _Combat with a door._ You have to give the author creativity points for that one!)
> 
> That said, it’s also canon that Grey Star can create wards against demons and undead – which, to my mind, suggests that he should be able to do something similar to shield a sensitive psychic against bad vibes, so to speak. And while I admit that I don’t see this version of Grey Star as being particularly versed in Evocation, let alone Necromancy (the school those spells are based in), it seems unlikely that he knows _nothing_ about them. In real life, education tends to work in a feedback loop – you need to be at a certain level in math before chemistry makes any sense, for instance. So odds are that he has very basic education in all fields, but only got to the advanced levels in a few before he had to leave. Which would also explain why you’re allowed to learn an additional type of magic after completing the first book. (Note that this explanation also applies to how Lone Wolf was able to continue mastering the basic Kai Disciplines in the early books, even though he had no teachers – he’d learned just enough of a little bit of everything to teach himself the rest.)
> 
> And while Lone Wolf seems rather dour in his books, Grey Star has a canonical snarky streak. Of course he’d be struck by the _ridiculousness_ inherent in a great warrior saved by clonking himself in the head.
> 
> I confess, I actually had a slightly different explanation for why Grey Star would have access to some of the teachings of the Kai when I first started this story. But once I started delving a little deeper into the background – I am _trying_ to stick to canon materials, other than the elements that I preemptively decided were going to be AU – I realized that the explanation I had wasn’t quite going to work. But given that the Shianti _knew_ Grey Star would eventually need to fight for his life – well, noninterference doesn’t mean they can’t eavesdrop! (And for the record – Grey Star actually would have been twelve or so when the Monastery was destroyed, according to my timeline. But Lone Wolf doesn’t know about the seven years he lost in the Dazairn.)
> 
> The permanent Gate depicted here is conceptually beholden to the permanent Gates created by Urtho in Mercedes Lackey’s _The Black Gryphon_ , although the visuals are actually based on the _torii_ of Shinto shrines.
> 
> Captain D’Val is a canon character from _The Chasm of Doom_ , and one of the few people in the early books to go through a major battle alongside Lone Wolf and actually _survive_. Probably because he wasn’t a traveling companion. Seriously, if Lone Wolf invites you to travel with him, politely decline and then find a very deep hole to hide in. And if you get designated as his _guide_ , update your will and make sure you have no unfinished business, because your days are numbered in page turns.
> 
> Speaking of – so far as I know, Princess Imelda is never mentioned in the books, but she is a _Magnamund Companion_ -canon character; there’s a section in the Q&A about who inherits with Prince Pelethar dead in _Flight from the Dark_. By the time I found that bit, however, I’d already created Prince Hamil as a grandchild and son to the dead prince, and also a rather pivotal supporting character to the plot. On the other hand, there isn’t any proof he _doesn’t_ exist! (AKA, Hey, look at that over there… Don’t mind me sneaking away…)


	11. Chapter 11

All around them, the Sommlending soldiers were readying for battle: grimly checking over their equipment one last time, dousing fires, going through a few passes to warm their muscles, sharing a bracing drink or a moment of quiet with their brothers-in-arms. Even so, they looked up as Lone Wolf passed, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the Kai Lord.

It was a look Grey Star knew all too well. Sado had looked at him like that, the day they’d met on the border of the Gurlu Marshes. Tanith, looking out from the Shadow Gate. Samu, when he’d revealed that his seven year absence had not been in vain. The whole of the Freedom Guild, after the battle of Fernmost, when they first began to truly, wholly _believe_ that despite everything, they could still triumph.

Hope. Trust. _Faith_.

_You’re here. We can win._

Then a desperate shout broke the spell.

“The enemy comes! They’re attacking the barricades – the second regiment has already been forced to fall back. We need reinforcements!”

All around them, the soldiers exploded into motion, dropping everything to grab up weapons and run for the battle lines.

Grey Star hesitated, for a moment too shocked to react. _It’s too soon!_

A foolish thought, he knew that. But he’d hoped they’d have more _time_ …

Reflexively, his hand went to his throat – and then clenched into a fist. He’d already left the Mind Gem at the portal. He’d done all he could. Now all he could do was pray that it was enough, and that they wouldn’t be too late.

Lone Wolf’s hand closed on his shoulder. The Kai Lord’s eyes were as hard and bleak as flint as he watched the soldiers mustering.

“You told Rimoah that you did not see yourself as a hero,” he said grimly. “It is a feeling I know all too well.”

Then they were running, racing down the streets with all the speed they could muster, turning their backs on the shouts of battle rising up behind them.

Their battlefield still lay ahead.

Grey Star took the lead, dodging past ancient buildings, vaulting over the walls of what had once been meditation gardens in the distant past – for now they were in the heart of Hol-da-Kiem, the district of temples and galleries and halls of learning. He’d spent his childhood running freely in a place that might have been sibling to this one – and though Lorn had been far smaller, far humbler in scale, tinged by the sorrow of exile, it still hurt to see such a place shattered and broken and _dead_ around him…

Then the buildings on either side fell away as they burst into an open courtyard, and despite the aching awareness of time trickling through their fingers that seemed to press on his back with a physical force, Grey Star stumbled to a stop, eyes wide in wonder.

The white slopes of the outer mantle of the great mountain seemed to glow in the flickering light of the dancing lightning, steady and unshakable as they swept up and away into the sky to either side. From the throat of the great divide between them, a long-frozen river of stone flowed out from the heart of the mountain and down – what could only be the ancient trace of the long-ago eruption that had shattered the mountain to its core. Into the winding course of the stone, long-ago hands had shaped a broad, shallow-stepped staircase, climbing from the edge of the courtyard where they stood and up, up, to the lip of the great crater itself.

From here, they could not see within. Only the very tip of the cindercone at the mountain’s heart – and a shining structure at the height of its dome.

Grey Star’s breath caught.

_The Nexus. Where the power of the heavens and earth combine._

Lone Wolf released a long, slow breath, gazing up at the mountain. Then, with a short nod, as though he’d suddenly come to a decision, the Kai Lord unslung the Sommerswerd’s harness and pressed the sword into Grey Star’s hands.

Caught off-guard by the action as much as the unexpected _weight_ of the weapon, Grey Star nearly dropped it. “What…?”

Lone Wolf’s eyes were grim. “When last we faced him, Naar did not pursue us. He determined where we would have no _choice_ but to go – and waited.” In a single, smooth motion, he drew King Ulnar’s sword, twirling it once, twice in his hand, as though testing its weight and balance.

Then he looked levelly at Grey Star. “When we reach the Nexus – you alone can restore the Sommerswerd. Concentrate solely on that. Leave our enemy to me.”

Grey Star wanted to protest. Instead, he pressed his lips into a thin line, and carefully slung the harness over his shoulder, so that the blade would not interfere if he had to run or fight.

Then, drawing in a deep breath, he started for the stairs, Lone Wolf pacing alongside him.

But Naar was not the only enemy they faced. They had only just started up the first steps when shrieking cries split the skies overhead.

“Kraan-riders!” Lone Wolf snarled, the very words a curse.

The Kraan dove down out of the lightning-traced clouds, five of them, wings pulled close as they stooped down on the long, bright staircase, their cries taking on extra vigor as they spied the distinctive green of Lone Wolf’s Kai cloak.

The stairs offered them nowhere to hide on the stairs from the attack. Gritting his teeth, Grey Star cried, “Stay close!” and raised his staff.

Arrows whistled down, driven by the force of the dive as much as the snap of the bowstrings – and glanced off the shimmering light of the sorcerous shield he’d raised around them. Moments later, grasping talons, too, skidded off the shield. The impact was enough to make the air within the shield _shiver_ with an almost physical force, and Grey Star felt as though the breath had been shaken from his body – but the shield held. Screeching in thwarted fury, leathery wings beat at the air as the Kraan fought to pull out of their dive – but by the time they began climbing again, the momentum of their dive had carried them past and away, well out of reach for the moment.

However, they’d left a new challenge in their wake. Five Drakkarim soldiers had leapt down onto on the stairs above them, weapons in hand.

With a battle cry of his own, Lone Wolf lunged forward, trying to engage the soldiers before they had fully recovered from the dismount. He was met by the jabbing point of a lance-like spear. A quick whirl of his sword knocked it away – but before he could follow up and close with his opponent, another spear snaked in from the side, forcing him to fall back, nearly stumbling over the edge of one of the steps. By the time he recovered, the five soldiers had formed up on the stairs, their spear points a bristling wall of steel.

Snarling, the Kai Lord lunged, hand closing on the shaft of one of those spears as it jabbed at him, and yanked, pulling it downward with the full force of his own weight. The Drakkarim soldier tried to yank his weapon back and out of Lone Wolf’s grip – but now the high ground worked against him, with gravity on Lone Wolf’s side, and with a curse he let go of the weapon instead, retreating up the steps as the others closed ranks to fill the gap he’d left in their line. Flipping the stolen spear in his hand, Lone Wolf shifted to the side of the stairs, where the soldier on the far side would either have to break position to get in range or else risk striking or tangling the man beside him. Sweeping the spear in one-handed arcs to block side strikes, the Kai Lord kept his eyes and his sword targeted on his nearest opponent.

With Lone Wolf holding their attention, Grey Star raised his staff to eye level as though he meant to jab at an opponent’s face, sighting along the weapon. But before he could strike, he saw the disarmed soldier reach down to his belt – and lift up a small crossbow, string already winched into position, fitting a bolt into the groove of the stock even as he took aim at the Kai Lord.

Grey Star’s bolt of blue-white force shattered the weapon before the soldier could release, forcing him to reflexively throw his arms up to shield his face from the flying splinters. But the bolt had reminded their opponents that Lone Wolf wasn’t alone, and Grey Star saw the eyes of the soldier on the far end of the line shifting to him.

Somewhere in the city below, he heard horns sounding a charge.

_We don’t have time for this._

Drawing in a deep breath, he suddenly straightened, snapping his staff up to a perfect vertical.

_Center… Focus…_ See _it…_

And suddenly he stood _behind_ the line of Drakkarim soldiers, looking down upon them rather than up. Gritting his teeth against the momentary vertigo of disorientation, Grey Star slammed the butt of his staff down against the stone step.

A circle of force burst forth from the point of impact, slamming across the backs of the line of soldiers. Caught completely off guard, they were thrown forward; one tumbled off the stair entirely, another fell badly and struck the steps below with the sickening _snap_ of a breaking neck-

A flicker of motion; Grey Star whirled, bringing his staff up to block the downward sweep of a sword.

The force of the blow would have damaged or even cut through a normal quarterstaff; as it was, Grey Star’s hands went numb from the impact. The soldier snarled, using his greater height and weight to bear down, clearly meaning to force Grey Star back on the stairs.

_Don’t let him!_

A desperate sidestep took him out from under the direct weight of the sword. The soldier stumbled for a moment, thrown off-balance by the sudden loss of resistance – but he recovered too quickly for Grey Star to take advantage of the opening, turning with a snarl to press his attack on the wizard again-

_Thhk_.

The soldier staggered to a stop, blinking as if in surprise. The sword dropped from his hand as he reached down to probe almost curiously at the spear embedded in his side.

Grey Star stepped out of the way as the man staggered forward, arms reaching as if he meant to drag Grey Star down with him before he finally collapsed to the stone. Turning, Grey Star saw Lone Wolf poised on the steps below, arm still extended from the throw, the bodies of the other soldiers scattered around him.

“Thank you,” Grey Star said, finally lowering his staff and fighting to slow his breathing again.

Lone Wolf quickly climbed the steps to join him, flicking the worst of the blood off his sword blade. “Thank you,” he said in return. “I am not certain I could have broken through that spear-wall unharmed.” He hesitated, giving Grey Star a look that was almost wondering. “You… can teleport?” he asked. “Of all the wizards I have met, only Banedon’s Guildmaster could boast such a skill – and even then, only through his staff.”

“I can,” Grey Star admitted. “But I dared not use it before. That method of travel carries… dangers.” Such as rematerializing half inside a wall, and he could not help but wish that his imagination were a little less vivid at times. “Nor have I ever used it to carry another with me…”

Screeches in the distance cut his words off. The five Kraan that had strafed past the stairs were circling around, plainly intent on making another pass. And they weren’t alone.

Lone Wolf’s lips thinned at the sight of the leathery wings against the sky, and he turned a fierce look on Grey Star. “We cannot afford to fight them all the way up the stairs,” he said. “I think we _must_ risk it, if you think it possible.”

For a moment, Grey Star hesitated. Were it only himself, he might have chanced it. But…

The Kraan were nearly in position to dive again. Bracing himself, he held out his hand. “Whatever you do,” he said, as Lone Wolf clasped it, “do not let go.”

Then he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, concentrating.

_Center. Focus. Reach-_

He heard the triumphant screams of the Kraan. Then the world _blurred_ -

And he was cast into a maelstrom.

For a moment, he was too startled to react, as wild energies whirled around him from all sides, a battering storm of light howling soundlessly through the very essence of the world. It caught at him, _pulled_ , until he melted into the flow and there was no _him_ at all left…

This was nothing like the Moonstone and its magic woven in patterns of overwhelming knowledge. Not even the portal between the worlds had such raw, untamed, untamable _power_.

_The Nexus. Ishir, I didn’t_ think _, we’re too close to it!_

Lone Wolf’s hand tightened on his.

Grey Star tightened his grip in response, using that hold, that _physicality_ , as an anchor. He would _not_ fail here-

The world came back into focus.

For one desperate moment, Grey Star wondered if he had failed after all and left them stranded somewhere wholly out of place or even time – but no. They stood at the top of that long staircase now, in an open court of white stone, the walls of the mountain’s shell curving up on either side and seeming to _glow_ beneath the dancing arcs of lightning criss-crossing the sky.

Beneath their feet, a subtle white-on-white pattern that seemed part of the very stone of the mountain itself lead from where they stood, to a low cone rising in the center of the great bowl of the crater. At the top of the cone stood a silvery-white structure, seemingly of the same material as the Gate they had seen in the city below – three crescent arcs arranged in a tripod, their uppermost tips almost touching at a point directly in their center.

Grey Star’s eyes widened – then he staggered as the aftershock of wresting them free of the wild energies of the Nexus hit, breathing as hard as though he’d run every step of that long stair up the mountainside himself. He leaned on his staff, trying to shake the moment of dizziness off…

Then suddenly Lone Wolf shoved him to the side, bringing King Ulnar’s sword up in a desperate parry.

The clang of steel on steel echoed across the mountain.

“Predictable indeed,” Naar chuckled.

_~Nexus of Light~_

Behind, he could hear the distant cries of battle and the sounding of Drakkarim and Sommenlending horns, cutting through the never-ending growl of thunder all around. Nearer, leather and cloth scuffed faintly on stone as Grey Star scrambled back to his feet, staff readied in his hands. Even so, Lone Wolf shifted his position slightly as he shoved the blocked blade aside, keeping himself between his ally and the evil that stood before them.

Black-on-black-on-black eyes smiled calmly. “No greeting?” the lord of darkness asked, tone almost light as he stepped back, sword leaving silver-bright arcs of reflected lightning flashes as he whirled it in a circle with a careless twist of his wrist. A gesture Lone Wolf had used just minutes before, and he had not the least doubt that Naar’s use of it now had nothing to do with coincidence.

“And after I offered you the comforts of my own keep,” Naar went on, almost _pouting_ , as though sorely disappointed. “Truly, mortals know nothing of proper hospitality.”

The words curled like snakes of black mist around Lone Wolf’s mental shields, slow and deadly and eager to sink poisoned fangs deep. He shoved them back, baring his teeth. “One does not _host_ an unwanted invader,” he snarled, King Ulnar’s sword raised and ready.

“Unwanted?” Naar’s smile widened. “How can that be, when your countryfolk all but _invite_ me in? Particularly in your presence.” He chuckled. “Oh, you yourself are irritatingly immune – but you make your companions so wonderfully _vulnerable_. Have you ever thought about that, young stray? There is not a single one of your countryfolk who does not look upon himself in comparison to you… and find himself bitterly wanting, if only for a moment. A moment of fear, of doubt, of _resentment._ ” He spread his arms wide. And _laughed_. “And that one moment… is all I need.”

Lone Wolf’s breath caught for a moment as he took in the clothing that Naar’s stolen form wore. Simple. Plain. Not the garb of a soldier at all, despite the sword held easily in fingers spotted with the stray black ink-marks of a junior scribe.

And though there were none of the strange _distortions_ that Naar had inflicted upon Prince Hamil’s childish body to shape it to his needs… the face behind those mocking eyes was young. Certainly no older than Grey Star.

_And I do not doubt for a moment that he means for me to see it._

It took all the mental discipline he’d ever learned as a Kai Lord to keep himself from lunging at the demon in a blind fury.

_Do not let him distract you. Remember why we came here!_

Lone Wolf’s eyes never left Naar – but beyond the master of darkness’s stolen form, he could make out that white-on-white road, and the shining structure that _had_ to mark the Nexus itself beyond. And with Naar blocking the path…

Lone Wolf’s lips thinned.

_The best way to accomplish what we came for… is to give him what he wants._

He didn’t dare look at the wizard. He could only hope Grey Star would remember and cleave to what he’d asked in the courtyard below.

Drawing a deep breath, Lone Wolf lunged at Naar.

_~Nexus of Light~_

The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed and reverberated across the natural amphitheater of the crater’s walls. Snarling like his namesake, Lone Wolf _hammered_ at Naar, not even trying to slip past the demon lord’s guard, driving him back and away from the precarious edge of the stairs. Grey Star stayed close behind the Kai Lord, trying always remain in Lone Wolf’s shadow, so that Naar would not be able to get a solid fix on his own location under the relentless barrage. One step, two – though Naar had baited Lone Wolf into the battle, he clearly had not expected anything like this near-berserk attack, and steadily the Kai Lord forced him farther and farther back. But all too soon, Naar caught his stride enough to sidestep out of the main push of the attack-

And in that moment, the path to the Nexus was open.

He didn’t dare teleport. Not with the Nexus so nearby. Gritting his teeth, Grey Star _ran_.

Behind him, the pattern and tone of steel against steel changed. Naar had broken Lone Wolf’s furious rush, and was striking back. Grey Star refused to look back, letting his world narrow down until nothing existed for him save the distance between him and his goal.

But he had to slow and finally stop as he reached the dome rising out of the heart of the crater. At this distance, he could see that the surface of the stone was perfectly, flawlessly smooth, and practically sheer at its base to a height well above his head. Impossible to scale.

_There must be a way. They would not have rendered the Nexus wholly inaccessible, for fear of just such a crisis as this! Think. Surely they left some form of a key._

Reaching into his belt pouch, Grey Star withdrew the crystal pendent. Lifting it up, he began carefully and methodically to scan the dome, searching for a depression, a slot – somewhere the pendant might _fit_ …

Nothing. Not even when a bolt of lightning overhead painted the world in blazing white light and ebon shadows, picking out every single edge and curve and angle in stark relief-

_Wait._

Grey Star’s breath caught. When the crystal had gleamed in the lightning’s flash, it had scattered shards of refracted light all around him. And in that light, he thought he’d seen…

Following a hunch, Grey Star summoned a small light to his hand. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he set the crystal on its chain to spinning.

Where the light of his spell fell directly on the dome, he only saw smooth, featureless stone. But in the dancing shards of rainbow light refracted through the countless facets of the crystal…

The flecks of light danced upon the edges of stairs, ethereal as air itself, floating in the emptiness.

Grey Star swallowed. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he stepped forward.

He quickly discovered that, unsettling as it was to see what seemed no more than empty air beneath his feet, he could not afford to simply fix his gaze on the Nexus and ascend by feel; the stairs were not straight, but curved, spiraling around the dome as he climbed. It seemed like an eternity, though it could barely have been more than a few moments, before at last he was able to step from the spiral of air onto solid stone once again.

Pausing for just a moment to brush the cold sweat from his brow, Grey Star finally allowed himself to look up.

He stood at the very top of the arc of the dome, where the point where the three crescents of the structure came together overhead – not in a point, but in a tight cluster, the open space between them looking up to the sky, clouded though it was.

At first, he thought the light running along the edges of those curved spires was simply reflected lightning – until he realized that it was not flickering at all, but _pulsing_ , as though in answer to some distant, dimly heard heartbeat. Eyes wide in wonder, he began to step forward without thinking, and started when his toe struck something hard and solid. Looking down, he found a small, raised circle of stone directly beneath those three skyward points, no more that two finger-breadths in height, and with a diameter he could have spanned easily with his own two hands.

And in its center, a small circular indentation.

Releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he stood again, Grey Star at last allowed his small light to fade. Dropping to one knee, careful to position himself so that he would not be leaning out over the small plinth, he lowered the crystal pendant into place.

The crystal flashed and glittered in the pulsing light, casting rainbows of color upon the arcing crescents overhead. Everywhere those shards of light in every color of the world touched, the silver-gold luminescence above brightened, intensified, shining back – and as it intensified, the light from the crystal redoubled.

And not just the crystal. All around the rim of the plinth, light began to trickle forth as Grey Star stepped back warily, a mist curling catlike through the space beneath the shrine, and drifting down the sides of the dome, even as the light overhead grew from a shimmer to a blaze, an echoing chorus of a thousand chords merging into one, single tone that shivered through Grey Star’s very _essence_.

Then he flinched back, shielding his face with his arm for a moment as light erupted around him – and drew in, the small plinth becoming the base of a column of light that shot into the skies, piercing through the dark clouds of Naar’s storm.

Very carefully, Grey Star set his staff aside. He would need both of his hands for the rite to come. Then he reached up and pulled the harness holding the Sommerswerd from his shoulders, and drew the blade.

It _sang_ in his hand as it slid free of the scabbard – and continued to ring, vibrating like a tuning fork, seeming almost to pull him forward, into the heart of the Nexus. He could hear it, _feel_ it, the broken magics of the weapon yearning to be whole once more.

Slowly, he set the sheath beside his staff, and straightened. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself one slow, deep breath, willing his mind to calm.

In. Hold. Out.

In one motion, he swept the blade of the Sommerswerd up to stand vertical before his face, almost a warrior’s salute, the tip rising straight up as though it meant to pierce the glowering clouds overhead.

Opening his eyes, he extended his other hand before him, stepped forward, and touched the heart of the light.

_~Nexus of Light~_

Lone Wolf’s world had narrowed to the clash of steel upon steel, the flicker and flash of lightning’s fire reflected on blades as he and Naar cut and thrust, parried and dodged.

Then Grey Star’s voice echoed across the great crater, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

The soft words struck the curving walls and rebounded back, a whisper echoing and re-echoing, lingering on the edge of hearing without ever fully fading. More followed, words in a tongue that seemed older than time itself, layering atop those that had come before in rippling waves of tone and rhythm, filling the whole of the mountain and building upward as though the gathering sound sought to reach past the muffling veil of the clouds to the vault of the sky itself. Beneath his feet, shining white stone shimmered with a light that had nothing to do with the storm overhead.

And Naar stepped back… and smiled.

“Thank you,” he purred, black-on-black-on-black eyes ebon pits in the radiant light, as though they swallowed any light that touched them, leaving nothing behind. “I sought many times to awaken the power of the Nexus, but though the key rested in my hand, the lock still evaded me.”

Lone Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “Your taint has no place here,” he snarled, keeping his voice low and steady as he forced his breathing to deepen and even, taking advantage of the respite. Naar had lost none of the skill with a blade that he had displayed on the tower; if anything, he had grown _more_ deadly, no longer hampered by a child’s limbs forcibly reshaped to a size that better suited his desires. And Lone Wolf could not help but grimly note that Naar showed no signs of fatigue, despite the fact that they’d been locked in combat for several agonizingly long minutes.

A Kai Lord’s endurance was great. It was not endless.

And so he continued to speak, buying time for new strength to flow into arms and legs that were beginning to feel the first, warning burn of fatigue. “Hol-da-Kiem may have fallen to darkness – but this place has _not_.” He could feel it – the absence of that horrible, screaming _violation_ that had nearly been his undoing in the valley below…

Naar chuckled. “True. But nor do I _need_ it, not here.” He spread his arms wide, mocking, _daring_ Lone Wolf to strike. “The Nexus is the power of Magnamund itself, young stray. And like this world, it serves neither the Light nor the Darkness. It is not good or evil – it simply _is_.” Something in that mocking smile… _shifted_ , turning predatory. _Hungry_. “Your young friend is a gift indeed.”

Lone Wolf brought King Ulnar’s sword up to guard, the edge of his vision picking out the burrs and notches along its edge in the quiet light drifting like fog from the shrine at the Nexus’s heart. Only the fact that Naar’s sword was equally worn kept the sight from striking despair into his heart.

“What do you want with Grey Star?” he asked quietly, eyes narrowed and intent.

Naar arched an eyebrow. “Tell me. Did you truly believe a mere child could work the magics to restore the Sommerswerd alone, no matter his teachers?” He leaned in, as though imparting a secret to a friend. “Behind you, little stray… is the only human in all the ages of Magnamund to have wielded the power of the Moonstone.”

Lone Wolf could not stop nor disguise his start of shock.

The Moonstone. The fabled artifact of the god-like Ancients – the _Shianti_ – that carried the combined might of all their magic and wisdom, all their knowledge and learning; all in Magnamund counted their calendar from the day of its creation. Hidden from all knowledge for all the ages since, for its power was _too_ great for Magnamund to withstand, even in a force of light and goodness.

_Grey Star was able to bear such a thing?_

Naar _laughed_ , seeing his reaction. “Ah, but there is more,” he said. “For while the Moonstone has once again passed beyond my grasp… it was designed in a manner not unlike your Nyxator’s Lorestones.” And now the veneer of cordiality showed its malevolence, in the dark relish hidden in the demon lord’s borrowed voice, as his smile deepened into a gloating smirk. “I suspect you of all people know what… _curious_ effects result, when such artifacts pass into human hands, young stray.”

He did. Lone Wolf had _felt_ that for himself, when the Lorestone of Varetta rested in his hand. The rush of energy, of strength, of _knowledge_ , becoming forever of a piece with his body and mind.

_But the Moonstone…_

Naar shrugged. “Truly, it is a wonder the changeling child still bears a mind that he can truthfully call his own. For where Nyxator scattered his knowledge into seven pieces, the Shianti poured the whole of it into one.” The dark god glanced idly to the side, tauntingly thoughtful. “It will be interesting to see if that remains the case. I would have preferred to acquire him with his mind intact… but to awaken the Nexus – he must have unlocked the Moonstone’s knowledge from where it lay hidden in his mind. _Completely_.”

For a moment, Lone Wolf could not breathe for horror.

_“I will not be asked to pay Tasilde’s price.”_

Grey Star had done it again – wielded truth as a shield to hide his secrets, deflecting a question with a reply that answered without _answering_ at all.

Gritting his teeth, Lone Wolf forced the thoughts back, walling them away from his mind. He could not think of that now. For good or ill, what was done was done, and all he could do was play his own part, and pray.

He raised his sword. “You will take _nothing_ from here.”

Naar laughed. “And how do you propose to stop me? Do you _truly_ believe restoring the Sommerswerd will be enough? For I remind you – you had it in your hand when last you were bested.” He began to walk, a prowling spiral drawing him closer. Lone Wolf moved with him, keeping his distance, ready and wary. “Assuming he survives – mind-whole or no – the changeling child will be in no state to defend himself when the ritual ends. King Ulnar is far below, and unlikely to survive the battle. And as for you…”

The smile was as merciless as the edge of a sword.

“Well. A blade is useless when there are none who survive to _wield it_.”

_~Nexus of Light~_

Strands of hair stung his cheeks, flying wild in the whirling tumult of energies at the foot of the Nexus. But the sensation was a dim one, distant behind the roaring torrent of sound and light and _lifedeathfirewaterearthairlightdarksunmoonstarsky_ that was the Nexus itself, the drowning song of the Moonstone’s knowledge flooding through his mind, and the blazing pattern of _life_ and _light_ and _will to triumph_ that was the Sommerswerd burning before him, broken and weakened and aching to be whole again.

In the raging, endless tumult, Grey Star could only cling to the little mote of dust that was his _self_ in grim desperation, and pray that he would not be swept away entirely.

Drawing in a deep breath of air and light and power, he tried to block the maelstrom out, and focused on gathering the shimmering shards of broken magic together.

This was like no spell he had ever worked before. This was not the weaving of singing power.

This was _forging_.

However, not for nothing had he sat quietly by to watch and listen at Lone Wolf’s lessons, learning the ways of steel and fire, the remaking of broken pieces into a stronger whole. He was no spell-smith of Boradon, shaping bright blades out of steel and fire…

But here, the fire and anvil and hammer were things of will and wonder and magic, and in this forge, he _would not_ fail.

Grey Star knew, vaguely, that his outstretched hand was shaking; that the skin of his face burned in the blaze; that sweat was running down his brow, stinging his eyes and plastering the strands of flying hair to his skin. In the ancient magic of the Sommerswerd, he could feel the blazing magics of a full Circle, the marks of the Shianti masters who had joined their powers to give form and _life_ to this weapon against the darkness. Some he _knew_ , the way a child would know the voice of his kin – _Acarya. Savitri._ Others whispered names unknown to him, or heard only in tales of ancient days, Shianti who had been lost to the centuries and millennia – _Satyavan. Tapasya_.

Family and friends and strangers mixed together – but he was bound to all of them, by craft and chosen kinship.

_Come, child of my teachers, and my teachers’ teachers._

Delicate and gentle, he coaxed the broken pieces of the Sommerswerd’s will together, melting each shining piece into a blazing whole, ready to be given new shape without wholly forgetting that which it had left behind. And slowly, carefully, joined them to the heart of the new blade – the wisdom and knowledge and endurance and fierce, unyielding _will_ that Tasilde had hammered into steel and alloy with her very life and the fire of a lost sun.

_Come_ , he whispered to the power of that sorrowful guardian. _You lost the bright world you were meant to protect to the end of time. Help me protect this one in its stead._

_Come. Help me ensure that my friend didn’t die in vain._

Sun’s fire and steel’s heart reached out, and touched the shining core of magic-

The Nexus _lurched_.

Distantly, Grey Star felt his physical body staggering as though struck with physical force, dropping to one knee, hard enough that he _knew_ that there would be ugly bruises left in its wake – but it was a vague awareness, lost in the Nexus’s savage scream of pure _fury_ and the choking, crushing hand of darkness that felt like it had closed over his own throat.

Far overhead, Naar’s dark clouds were closing in, fighting to cut off the Nexus’s connection to the heavens above.

He didn’t give himself time to think of folly. Instead, he simply opened himself to the Nexus.

Power rushed out of him, _through_ him, and the only reason he neither dropped the Sommerswerd nor lost his contact to that pillar of light was because neither sword nor Nexus would _allow_ him. He was theirs now, a vessel of will and power-

A faint bite of pain as he bit the inside of his lip, forcing himself back into his body. Focusing on that blazing connection, he _pulled_ , bringing the song of the Nexus back into alignment, and felt the flow of power stabilize as it burned the dark clouds back.

Something warm trickled along his upper lip and into the corner of his mouth. Licking it away without thinking, he tasted the sour salt of sweat, and the coppery-sweet tang of blood.

_Oh. Nosebleed._

He tried to stand, and failed. The power of the Nexus filled him to the point that he half-wondered if _he_ was glowing, and he had no strength to spare for his legs.

 But the power was stable for now, and he _wasn’t finished yet_.

_~Nexus of Light~_

The skies churned overhead, spitting white lightning in crackling fury as the heavy-bellied clouds roiled, curdling around themselves in a slowly turning maelstrom that threatened to crush the slender thread of shining silver-gold light rising defiantly from the heart of the white mountain.

Breathing deeply, King Ulnar made himself look away.

_Have faith in your Kai Lord. Leave his battles to him – and look to your own._

The ethereal light of the mountain and the fitful flashes of lightning gleamed on a forest of spears, picked out in dull matte the blackened helms and armor of the Drakkarim army, and glimmered on the eerie freestanding structure of silvery stone behind them.

The Sommlendings’ counterattack had caught the Drakkarim by surprise with its swiftness; the battle had begun before the enemy was truly ready, his forces still scattered throughout the ruined city, away from this, their main camp.

But though surprise might make the strength of any one man worth three… King Ulnar knew that numbers had a strength all their own.

Even if every one of his men felled three of their enemy… two more would still remain to take their place.

Coolly, he regarded the force before him, letting none of his thoughts show in his face. Then he turned his eyes to his own men.

They looked back, pale and bloodied from the desperate fighting they had already seen this night but grimly determined, though some of them cast uneasy glances up at the roiling sea of the sky. But even those eyes turned to meet his as Ulnar slowly raised the blade he had borrowed from one of his captains, after giving his own to Lone Wolf.

Holding it at arm’s length, he held the point out above the heads of his people, as though in blessing.

“You may ask why we are here,” he said, voice soft, but pitched to carry to every listening ear. “This is not our land. We are far from our green hills, our lofty mountains, our shade-filled forests.” His hand tightened on the sword hilt as his voice intensified. “But the darkness is _here_. And we of Sommerlund have been the foes of darkness from the day our ancestors set sail for this land!”

A fire seemed to kindle in every eye, as well as awe, as though his soldiers looked upon him, and saw the ghost of King Ulnar the First, vanquisher of Vashna, liege lord of Sun Eagle, and wielder of the Sommerswerd.

Perhaps they did. Ulnar had quite deliberately chosen his stance to echo a well-known image of his legendary ancestor.

“Someday, darkness may triumph!” he shouted, and heard a growl rising from a thousand throats. “Someday, this land may fall!

“ _But it will not be today!_ ”

The growl became a full-throated roar, and as one, the Sommlendings charged.

Army clashed against army, and the clarity of the moment was lost in the thunder of steel on steel, the screams of men and horses, the sharp hiss of whistling arrows, and the harsh breath in Ulnar’s own lungs. Sword in hand, he cut, parried, chopped, thrust and blocked, until his arm was wearied beyond pain, his shield arm numb, his leg aching where a stabbing point meant to fell his steed or cut his girth had struck instead against his armored thigh before one of his retainers cut the Drakkarim down. He thought. The fog of battle had closed in around him, and his foes blurred into a long line of dark eyes glittering through slitted helms and flashing blades.

And still they came, and Ulnar felt the grim seed of despair begin to wend choking roots around his heart.

He still hoped that Lone Wolf might accomplish his mission, might restore the Sommerswerd and escape this place of death and darkness and destroyed glory. Overhead, the clouds coiled in rage – but the frail needle of light still blazed bright against them. They had not yet _lost_.

But the men who fought by his side, who had followed his lead to this dead end, without hope of surrender or retreat…

He had known that it would come to this, in the end. He had thought himself ready.

Even so, he could not stop his heart from crying out in desperate prayer.

  _Great Kai. Lord of Light. Sovereign of the Sun._

_Please. If ever my people have served you – reach out your hand to aid us now._

Something at the base of that strange, distant gateway of stone glimmered brilliant, bloody red.

Eldritch light flooded the great courtyard, shimmering veils of every color and shade imaginable rising in rippling, shining glory to fill the space between the silvery columns-

And Ulnar’s heart fell as rank upon rank of dark-armored soldiers began to march through.

_So be it_ , he thought grimly, as the veil rippled and the commander of the new force stepped through, accompanied on one side by a massive, dark-skinned warrior, and on the other by his standard-bearer. The standard, furled against its pole as though to protect it from a howling gale, was as black as the darkest night, and the bitterest answer to his prayers.

But he was still the king of Sommerlund, and he would meet his end fighting. Strengthening his grip on his sword, he straightened in the saddle.

The stillness of the lull that had fallen as the mystic gate opened was broken by a Drakkarim commander storming up onto the dais to meet the leader of the new force, plainly livid, his furious shout echoing across the battlefield-

-and cut short by a single, curt thrust of shining steel.

As the dying Drakkarim commander fell, the shifting winds of the storm that filled the valley caught dark fabric.

The black banner unfurled to reveal a many-pointed star, blazing silver in the light from the mountain.

Roaring a battlecry, the dark warrior leapt forward – and the same roar rose from countless other throats as the newcomers raised their weapons as one and slammed into the stunned and unprepared flank of the Drakkarim forces.

For just a moment, the wiry leader lingered beside his banner, as more of his forces poured forth from the shining gate. His gaze swept across the battlefield, and met Ulnar’s.

A bloodied sword flicked up in a brief battlefield salute, equal to equal, and a clear voice rang across the battlefield, in accented but understandable Sommlendish.

“ _The Free Peoples of Shadaki send their regards!_ ”

_~Nexus of Light~_

Naar’s blade hammered down, the force of it numbing Lone Wolf’s fingers as he brought King Ulnar’s sword up in a two-handed block. Seeing an opening, the Kai Lord drew on lessons he’d learned not in the training yards but on a dozen rough docks and disreputable bars, and drove his foot into his enemy’s unarmored midsection. The blow blasted the breath from Naar’s lungs, forcing him to stagger back – but the dark lord’s lips curved in a dark smile as he recovered and lunged in again, inhumanly fast, before Lone Wolf could recover his balance.

Lone Wolf threw himself to the side instead, hitting the ground with his shoulder and arcing his body around to both protect his blade and prevent himself from inadvertently stabbing himself with it as he rolled, and came up to his feet again, careful to keep himself squarely positioned between Naar and the Nexus.

And not just for his ally’s sake. With the light of the Nexus at his back, he could see Naar’s face and movements clearly – and, perhaps, the human eyes of Naar’s host could not read his own quite so well.

It was an advantage he desperately needed. In skill, he and Naar might be evenly matched, each pushed to their uttermost limits – but his arms and legs were beginning to shake with fatigue, stinging from a dozen small cuts from near misses and closer calls, and every breath burned harsh in his lungs. While Naar…

The master of darkness moved with inhuman speed and strength, never tiring, never flinching, although Lone Wolf had landed strikes of his own, some of which should have at least _slowed_ his enemy. It was as though Naar simply felt no pain, no fatigue in his stolen body. Lone Wolf could only be grateful that the battle demanded enough of Naar’s attention that he had yet to try for any of the raking mental attacks he had used when Lone Wolf was his prisoner, or the mind-fogging words the demon lord so loved…

Lone Wolf’s eyes widened slightly.

_I have to try._

As Naar turned to face him again, languid as a cat amusing itself with a trapped mouse, Lone Wolf gathered his mental strength together-

-and _struck_ , seeking the place where possessor and possessed meshed.

He’d thought himself ready. What he would find – surely it would be at least as bad as the scream of Hol-da-Kiem, the dying city crying out under the weight of the darkness that had choked it for thousands of years.

But the horrible, sucking _emptiness_ that met his mental strike was a thousand times worse than he’d ever dreamed.

Sickened, Lone Wolf recoiled mentally and physically, shuddering in visceral reaction.

No wonder Naar moved as though he felt no pain, no fatigue, not even the natural limits upon a human body to keep muscles and bones from exerting their full potential and tearing the body apart. _Naar_ was not here at all. Only his puppet.

And while the lord of darkness had taken care to keep Hamil intact in mind and body to be a fit sacrifice to destroy the Sommerswerd… his current victim had not been nearly so fortunate.

Steel flashed in the light of the Nexus. Mentally cursing, Lone Wolf swept his borrowed sword around to parry-

With a scream like that of a living being, the battered blade snapped, stressed at last beyond its limits.

Naar’s sword skidded across Lone Wolf’s mail, the notched and blunted edge catching and ripping his outer tunic and leaving the ache of new bruises across his ribs, but failing to cut through to strike a mortal wound. Lone Wolf flung the hilt into Naar’s face as his other hand flew to the back of his belt. Laughing triumphantly, Naar struck the shard aside and turned with the motion, sword sweeping down for a final blow.

Keeping his arms close to his body for leverage and strength, Lone Wolf caught the strike with his dagger.

Naar disengaged, stepping back before Lone Wolf could grab for the blade to close the distance. “Stubborn,” he chuckled. “I will grant you that much credit, young stray – even in your darkest day, at your final hour, you have that, at least…”

The light around them changed. Starting, Naar’s eyes shot up to the skies, and Lone Wolf found his own doing the same.

High overhead, glimmering like the diamond dust that danced above the ice-fields of Kalte, a long, sinuous shape flowed in a circle around the slender column of light rising from the Nexus. And another. And _another_ , three great serpent-dragons of air and wind from the highest skies twining and braiding through each other in their flight as the circle became an outward spiral, pushing back the glowering darkness of the stormclouds.

And through that great vertical shaft rising through the heart of the storm – the clear disc of the full moon poured its light down to fill the mountain’s crater.

Naar snarled, black-on-black-on-black eyes turning to the blazing light of the Nexus itself as he extended a hand, as though he meant to crush it physically.

Lone Wolf lunged forward to block his path.

_~Nexus of Light~_

The world was drowning in blazing light and an overwhelming flood of ancient knowledge. All that remained was a narrow pinprick of focus, aware of nothing save the precarious balance of forces within the Nexus, and the drawing and forging of will and purpose into a form of steel and light.

Something _shifted_ – and the tearing, raging weight of the Nexus and its battle against the darkness lifted, taken up by a deft, familiar touch.

Shocked back into _himself_ and suddenly aware of flesh and blood and _being_ again, Grey Star opened his eyes without thinking.

Mirrored eyes smiled back.

“Acarya?” he whispered in shock, staring at his first and greatest teacher in magic.

The High Wizard of the Shianti smiled, hand pressed neatly together before him, so calm that they might have been standing together in the meditation gardens of Lorn again.

“See to the sword, young one,” Acarya said – and it was _him_ , his voice, not a whisper through the back of Grey Star’s mind channeled by the Moonstone. “Leave Naar’s false darkness to me.”

A thousand questions were at the tip of his tongue – how, when, _why_ – but with an effort of will, Grey Star pushed them back. Now was not the time for questions. Through the Nexus, he could feel Naar’s darkness fighting Acarya’s summoned elementals, raging to choke the flow of the Nexus off again-

But Acarya’s will sheltered him from the storm, allowing Grey Star to turn his mind fully to the burning, shining magic of the Sommerswerd. Blocking all else out, he called on fire and steel and stubborn will and ancient spells, binding them together, drawing and folding and layering each until they were an interlocked whole.

Then, drawing a deep breath, he at last opened the magic of the blade fully to the power of the Nexus that had forged it.

Power blazed in his hand, sun’s fire rippling through shining steel until the woven patterns of metal danced and flickered like living things, and the sword _sang_.

_Done._

Grey Star wrenched himself free of the Nexus, stumbling back a step before he caught his balance and turned. “Lone Wolf!” he shouted, and threw.

_~Nexus of Light~_

Without thinking, Lone Wolf threw his hand up, catching the spinning sword by the hilt as though the Sommerswerd itself had _willed_ it so.

Light and warmth and strength flowed through him, ringing and burning and fiercely, defiantly, _gloriously_ alive.

_…Yes_.

Before him, black-on-black-on-black eyes narrowed dangerously. But Naar simply smirked.

“And now what will you do?” he asked, amusement threaded through the words, as though congratulating a small child for finding a dropped toy. “Or did you perhaps expect the sun to rise in the midnight hour to save you?”

Lone Wolf _smiled_. And raised the Sommerswerd high to gleam in the silvery-white light of the full moon.

“I have all the sunlight I need,” he replied, remembering a raised hand, and a riddle.

_For moonlight… is sunlight reflected._

_~Nexus of Light~_

And for a moment, Hol-da-Kiem was filled with light.

_~Nexus of Light~_

Limbs still shaking with adrenaline and fatigue alike, Lone Wolf blinked furiously, trying to clear the sunspots from his vision as the light faded. And not only the light of the Sommerswerd; the eerie glow of the stones underfoot and the brilliance of the Nexus behind him had also faded, leaving only the pale lamp of the moon to light the valley. The moon, and the flickering lightning – but that, too, was fading. Robbed of Naar’s will, the unnatural clouds were beginning to give way at last, slowly drifting apart to reveal growing traces of star-studded night sky.

Dark against the glow of moonlight on white stone, Naar’s fallen host lay crumpled only a few strides away.

Slowly straightening, Lone Wolf carefully approached – and winced when he saw blank, dead eyes staring back.

Naar was gone – not destroyed. He had only been present in mind to begin with, and Lone Wolf had _felt_ that hateful presence flee as the power of the Sommerswerd awakened under the moonlight, unwilling or unable to stand and face the full power of Kai’s fury. But the lord of darkness had taken one last victim; the young scribe had likely been dead before Lone Wolf and Grey Star ever set foot upon the mountain.

Lone Wolf lowered his head for a moment in sorrow for the youth whose name he didn’t even know – then turned, running for the heart of the crater and his ally. But as he drew closer he slowed, eyes widening in shock.

Grey Star sat against the base of the dome, eyes clenched shut as though in pain. A man knelt beside him, hands resting on the young wizard’s temples with a glimmer of silvery light that seemed to blend with that of the moon. The moonlight shone pale on man’s white hair, although there was something strangely ageless about the subtle lines on his face. And though Grey Star’s grey robe was battered and travel-worn, threadbare and carefully repaired in places, there was no mistaking the cut and color of the matching robes that the stranger wore.

The man finally sighed and removed his hands. “There,” he said, and Lone Wolf started. The words were like nothing he had ever heard before – but they seemed to reach beyond his ears, their meaning projected straight into his mind. “The Moonstone’s knowledge is once again confined to where it belongs. I fear you will never be free of it, little star – but this way, at least you may make your peace with its burden properly, through time and learning.”

Grey Star opened his eyes, wincing slightly, as though even the light of the moon pained him.

The wizard looked terrible. Sweat had plastered strands of dark and silver hair to his brow and cheeks, the skin of his face and hands was a painful red, as though he’d been trapped beneath the desert sun for hours, and a trail of blood tricked down from one of his nostrils.

But his eyes were clear and alive and _his own_ , and for what seemed the first time since Ardim had so ignominiously thrown them from the _Skyrider_ – no, perhaps for the first time since the shattering of the Sommerswerd – Lone Wolf could finally _breathe_ again.

“Thank you,” Grey Star began, and then his eyes flicked beyond the man to where Lone Wolf stood, widening slightly. “Naar?”

“Gone,” Lone Wolf replied, not bothering to hide his satisfaction as he stepped forward. “Not destroyed – I doubt such is even possible, and certainly not on this plane of existence, through the channel of a mortal puppet. But I do not think he will be eager to return.”

The man turned, and Lone Wolf started, meeting the level, welcoming gaze of mirrored eyes.

“Thank you, Lone Wolf,” the Shianti said, stepping forward and offering him the Sommerswerd’s scabbard. “Without your protection, Naar would surely have prevented the rite from succeeding.”

“Without Grey Star’s aid, we would never had any hope of making the attempt,” Lone Wolf replied, accepting and sliding the blade home before removing its harness and clipping the sword to his belt. The familiar weight settled by his side like an old friend, warm as a living thing, and he couldn’t help resting his hand on the pommel, still hardly daring to believe they had truly _succeeded_. “For which, I suspect, we have you to thank?” he added, carefully.

The man laughed softly. “Can a teacher ever truly take the credit for his student? Or, indeed, a parent for his child? Grey Star has succeeded beyond what we ever dared dream. The credit, I think, must go to him.” Stepping back slightly, he bowed. “My name is Acarya, High Wizard of the Shianti of the Isle of Lorn. We sensed Naar’s interference with the Nexus, and judged it needful to… even the odds slightly.”

Grey Star bit his lip lightly, eyes wide and troubled and very young for a moment. “But…”

“Had Naar succeeded, the balance of the world would have tipped dangerously towards darkness,” Acarya said calmly. “The Balance of the world itself was in peril. None who truly serve the light could simply stand aside.” Raising his chin slightly in a manner Lone Wolf found quite familiar, the Shianti  added, “Whatever the consequences.”

And with that, he turned, looking to the moonlight filling the crater.

In later days, Lone Wolf was never able to truly describe what he saw. Or even if he _saw_ anything at all. Only that the moonlight itself gathered together, and took form, if form was truly the right word for something his mind shied away from even attempting to grasp, so vast and bright was its essence.

All he truly remembered was the voice, beautiful in the same way that a thunderstorm over the open seas might be – bright and glorious, a thing of wonder… and all too easily the harbringer of death, should the wind shift its course.

“ _Well. This is a situation, indeed._ ”

Acarya stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Lady Ishir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Public Safety Announcement: _Throwing_ a sword to someone is a Very Bad Idea. Please don’t do this at home. Grey Star and Lone Wolf get away with it here because A: Lone Wolf has superman Kai Lord reflexes, B: the Sommerswerd basically has a mind of its own, and C: in Epic Fantasy, Rule of Cool trumps physics.
> 
> And on a related note, if you think King Ulnar’s speech is a bit Hammy… of course it is! Did you miss the note in the first chapter, where I mentioned that the plotbunnies were using this fic as an excuse to indulge in every single Epic Fantasy trope they could get their fuzzy little paws on? The pre-battle Rousing Speech is a _classic_.
> 
> I had three key images when I started this fic. The first was Grey Star’s rescue of Lone Wolf through creative interpretation of reality. The second was the broken Sommerswerd and the Shianti appearing to help the reforging in the Nexus. (Well, at the time it was just “generic ancient temple that’s somehow a key magical location” – the Nexus only got its name when I hit chapter seven and realized, whoops, I had to _call_ it something.) And the third, was the whole unsuspected Gondor Calls For Aid, with the forces of Shadaki showing up and Sommerlund thinking at first that they’re enemy reinforcements. (The hard part was getting Sommerlund’s and Shadaki’s forces in one places – they live pretty much at opposite ends of the greater landmass of Northern and Southern Magnamund! My logistics bunnies yelped about travel time and politics with all the intervening countries, my Wizard Did It bunnies bounced up squeaking about magic portals, and things got _very silly_ for a while…)
> 
> Interesting note I came across while doing research for the fight on the stairs – while Lone Wolf is classically a swordsman (Sommerswerd, it’s kind of inevitable), the sword is really more a “sidearm,” historically. You could have it on your person without getting funny looks, and it’s a good fall-back weapon. Primary combat weapons are the types that let you fight without getting too close to the other guy’s sharp and pointy things: either a ranged weapon (bow, arrow, gun) or a polearm (halberd, spear). The reason is that the ability to control distance is _huge_ – if the other guy can’t reach you, he’s in trouble. And it’s easy to pull a spear back and fight close-range if you must. (Do a search on “sword vs spear” on YouTube, there are some interesting informational bits – scholagladiatoraa has an interesting one on historical fencing. The one on “grabbing polearms” is also good!)
> 
> And on that note – oh yes. Even one battle is enough to seriously damage the edge of a sword – that stereotype about the stoic hero constantly sharpening his sword exists for a reason. As noted in chapter six, sword edges have to be sharp and hard – which means brittle.
> 
> And even one minute of fighting for your life is _exhausting_. In addition to the fact that a swordfight essentially boils down to doing martial arts with weights… well. As has been noted by any number of people: if someone’s coming at you with a lethal weapon and intent to kill, where one mistake will cost you your life, even ten seconds is a _really frickin’ long time_.
> 
> So far as I’m aware, we only know of three canonical names in Shianti – the name _Shianti_ itself, _Acarya_ , and _Shasarak_. Acarya in particular seems to have a Sanskrit ring to it, so I ended up looking up a legend and drawing the other names from there.


	12. Chapter 12

Grey Star jolted upright, meaning to rise to his feet-

He realized his mistake a moment too late, as splitting pain lanced through his head, whiting out his vision. Barely choking down a groan, he slumped back against the stone of the dome, reflexively pressing his hands against the sides of his head. The sting of light-burned skin was almost welcome, a distraction from the searing pain. Acarya had helped him once again seal the overwhelming knowledge of the Moonstone safely away in the back of his mind – but the Shianti were not healers, and there was only so much his foster-father could do for the damage Grey Star had wrought upon himself, attempting to carry out the Nexus ritual alone.

A warm weight seeped through his worn robe and tunic, helping him push the pain back a little farther – Lone Wolf, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Lady of the Moon,” the Kai Lord said formally, voice so measured and calm that Grey Star suspected even the goddess herself might not realize how deeply shaken Lone Wolf was beneath it. “I had thought you debarred from directly entering this world…?”

“ _And so I am. However, Naar’s actions have shifted the balance slightly. I am thus allowed some waiving of the terms, if only temporarily._ ” A pregnant pause, like the gathering of a great wave far from the shore. “ _But I am not the only one who stands out of place._ ”

His weakness be _damned_. Grey Star made to push Lone Wolf’s hand aside and stand – and realized that the Kai Lord had already anticipated him. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder was now extended towards him, palm up in silent invitation, although Lone Wolf’s eyes never strayed from the scene playing out before them.

Accepting the offered aid, Grey Star pulled himself to his feet, with far more care this time. Even so, he staggered and had to lean on Lone Wolf’s support for a moment before his legs found the strength to support him once more.

Acarya was answering Ishir, his words calm and measured as though they were simply discussing a minor point of philosophical interest. “When you called upon us to withdraw from the world of men, your intent was to restore the balance that we had unknowingly skewed. We agreed to your terms, for we did not wish to return to our wandering – and because we love this world which became our home, and would not see it destroyed by our own mistakes.” His chin rose slightly. “But for that same love, we could hardly stand by as another force meddled to tip the balance in the other direction. We sought only to even the scales, and return the balance to what it was before Naar’s interference.” His lips quirked slightly in a subtle smile. “After all, the Sommerswerd is, after a fashion, our responsibility.”

“ _That is not the only way you have tested your limits._ ”

_Feeling_ that eerie regard turning to him, Grey Star forced himself to straighten, gazing back at Ishir as levelly as he could, even as the goddess’s radiance sparked new pain behind his eyes.

But a moment later, oddly, the light seemed to… not so much _dim_ as _soften_ , until he could look at her without pain. And now there was something oddly _thoughtful_ in that regard – as though Ishir had seen something in him she had not expected.

Acarya’s lips thinned ever so slightly, and he pressed his palms together, fingertips turned down. “If you think me able to stand idly by as the child we raised risks his life to save the world that we love,” he said, cool and precise as he ever had been when Grey Star had made some careless mistake with his elemental playmates as a child, “then you are not the goddess we once honored so highly.” He shrugged slightly. “So be it, then. If you feel my oath is broken – then judge it broken, and cast me out. But – know that of the Shianti, only I have broken the letter of our vow. Judge me as you will – but me alone.”

“ _The letter, perhaps._ ” There was something knowing in that voice that was more than a mere voice. “ _The spirit…_ ”

To Grey Star’s shock, Lone Wolf stepped forward.

“I would say,” the Kai Lord said quietly, “that the spirit in which the vow was made _remains_ unbroken.” He paused. “And so, I think, would you, Lady of the Moon.”

For a moment of eternity, there was silence.

“ _Naar planned this, I think._ ”

Grey Star stiffened, hand reflexively tightening on his staff. “What?”

“ _That one… has ever loved laying traps, that one’s own better nature might lead them to their downfall._ ” Moonlight shimmered. “ _I would not put it beyond him to have hoped for this outcome. That even if his first plot were thwarted, he would force you wanderers to break your oath… and thus force me to cast out those who would be allies._ ”

To Grey Star’s shock, the sense of a crooked smile slipped into Ishir’s presence.

“ _I find myself… less than inclined to follow his twisted dance. The oath is broken – but in good faith, under extraordinary circumstances. I merely ask that you not make a habit of this._ ”

Acarya released a long, slow breath, and only then did Grey Star realize how tense his foster-father had been.

“ _However_ ,” Ishir went on, “ _I asked you to withdraw for a reason – and that reason still stands._ ”

Lone Wolf cleared his throat slightly. “If I may?” he said. “I believe I am the only one to truly realize Grey Star’s origins, at least from among those we have met since escaping Naar’s stronghold. And I will hold that secret close.” He looked at Grey Star.

Grey Star bit his lip. “I cannot change who I am,” he said simply. “All I can do is strive not to advertise it.” He winced. “And… there are many in Shadaki who already know.”

The air stirred in a soft sigh of wind. “ _The peoples of the south… have desperately needed hope, these past centuries. I cannot begrudge them what little they found. And even so, you have not abused their faith. It is enough._ ”

Something about the light… shifted, grew pensive, as she shifted her gaze to Lone Wolf.

“ _I never foresaw_ this _in your destiny. I do not know how your future will change._ ”

Lone Wolf shrugged. “Then I will simply continue as I have begun. Fate is never a certain thing for those who must live it. If it has grown less certain now – I think it makes little difference.”

“ _Fairly put._ ” Ishir seemed to gather her light in close. “ _My time here grows short. Acarya  – if you are willing, I will aid you in returning to your isle.”_

“Thank you,” Acarya said, bowing. “There is only one thing I have left to do here.”

The next thing Grey Star knew, his foster father had caught him up in a tight embrace.

On some level, his pride wanted to object. He was grown now, not a child…

Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned close, letting the warmth soak in.

He had known, when he’d set out from his childhood home, that it would be forever; that he would never again see those he considered his family. Somehow, that memory made this parting sting all the more.

But time could not be turned back, and after a long moment, Acarya drew away.

“You have succeeded far beyond our wildest hopes,” he repeated. “Where you go from here – we look forward to seeing.”

Grey Star made himself smile crookedly. “Did you just wish me an interesting life?” he asked wryly, and swallowed when his throat caught a bit on the last words.

A faint glimmer of amusement hovered at the corners of Acarya’s lips, though mirrored eyes were suspiciously bright. “Perhaps,” he said. Then he turned, walking away to join Ishir.

Light flowed from the goddess to Acarya, and from the Shianti to the goddess: a soft, silvery glow that settled around them like a mist, thickening until they could not be seen at all.

When it faded, they were gone.

Grey Star leaned against his staff, as all the weariness of the day at last caught up with him, demanding a reckoning. Beside him, he heard Lone Wolf release a long, unsteady sigh. The Kai Lord shook his head, then turned his head, mouth opening as though to speak.

Before he could, the distant sound of horns broke the silence.

Lone Wolf’s eyes widened. “King Ulnar!” he gasped – and then they were both running, calling on energy Grey Star had not even realized he yet _had_ as they hurried to the long stair. Though what they hoped to do, he didn’t know. He had not the strength to teleport again, and it would take hours to descend-

But when they reached the edge of the crater, they stopped in surprise.

The dark clouds overhead were reduced to mere tatters now, the flickering light of the storm replaced by the steady radiance of the full moon. Far below, the Drakkari forces had broken at this sign of their lord’s defeat, fleeing into the valley, pursued by Sommerlund’s forces-

And others, raising the familiar sound of Masbaté war cries, and the shouts of Shadakine soldiers.

Grey Star released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and leaned on his staff, feeling weak in a way that had little to do with mere physical exhaustion. “They came in time…” he breathed.

Lone Wolf turned a piercing, questioning stare at him.

Grey Star nodded to the scene below. “I feared to speak too soon. I did not want to raise hopes only to see them crushed. But… when Lord Rimoah spoke of ancient portals, I recalled there were many such scattered across Shadaki.” He looked out over the valley. “We weren’t certain it would work. Tanith served Mother Magri as servant as much as apprentice; though she had aided in summonings and portals, she was more a source of easy energy than a student. But – it was worth _trying_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lone Wolf nodding slowly. “That is why you spent so much time meditating over the red stone, was it not? And why you left it beside the Gate.”

Grey Star nodded. Every moment of the journey that he had not spent studying the spells of the Sommerswerd, he had been aiding Tanith, joining their minds through the Mind Gem, struggling to channel to her the fragments of knowledge whispered from the Moonstone that she would _need_ for such a feat…

But perhaps it had stood him in good stead. Without that intense practice, would his mind have survived the flood of the Moonstone released long enough for Acarya to come to his aid?

Beside him, he heard Lone Wolf sigh. “I understand why you did not speak, I think,” he said. And paused. “However – there is one matter that I would discuss with you.”

Then, to Grey Star’s shock, the Kai Lord turned and punched him in the arm. _Hard_.

Taken completely off guard, Grey Star nearly dropped his staff, eyes widening in shock. “What…?” he managed, as feeling began to slip back in after that first numbing impact. He had seen Lone Wolf in combat – the Kai Lord had definitely pulled the blow. But it still _hurt_.

Lone Wolf’s narrowed eyes glittered like those of his namesake as he scowled. “I understand,” he said flatly, “why you did not speak of the Moonstone. But to learn what danger you truly faced tonight from _Naar_ was… unpleasant.”

Grey Star winced.

Lone Wolf’s nostrils flared angrily – and then, to Grey Star’s surprise, the Kai Lord’s scowl faltered, and his eyes flickered away. “There are… very few in this world whom I can truly name as friend,” he said quietly, shoulders stiff. “I would rather not see their numbers reduced any further.” He drew in a long, slow breath, and looked down at the long, long stairs. “I suggest,” he said suddenly, “that as it is clear the battle is ended… we simply wait for them here.”

Grey Star felt his lips quirk. Carefully, he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the stairs before his legs gave out entirely, that last jolt of energy utterly spent. “I have no argument with that,” he said, leaning back a bit.

Odd. For cold, hard stone, it was strangely… comfortable…

_~Nexus of Light~_

The light of the rising sun flowed slowly down the distant east-facing slopes of the western mountain range across the plain, painting them in gold and rose and fire, although the mountains nearer at hand to his left still stood dark against sky. Overhead, the vault of the sky itself had already brightened to true blue, interrupted only by a few drifting wisps of white.

Tilting his head back to watch the clouds pass overhead, Lone Wolf had to wonder. Had it truly been less than two days since the _Skyrider_ had seen that looming darkness on the horizon?

_I wonder what became of them. They could not have held their pace for long._

He set the concern aside. Banedon and his dwarves were canny and clever. If any could have shaken their pursuers and gone to ground, or escaped to the other side of the storm, it would be they.

Besides. They weren’t _allowed_ to have come to harm. Not until he’d found some way to get a little payback for the hair-rising way they’d delivered him and Grey Star inside Hol-da-Kiem – effective or not.

Smiling slightly to himself, Lone Wolf returned his gaze to the distant mountains – until a flicker of movement brought his eyes lower, to three tall figures slowly making their way up the long mountain stair.

Recognizing one, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned to where Grey Star lay beside him, having fallen asleep nearly the moment he’d lowered himself to the stairs. Now the wizard lay curled up on the stone steps with the boneless disregard for discomfort that only cats and truly exhausted teenagers could ever truly achieve, only his hair and the tips of his travel-worn boots poking out from beneath the green Kai cloak that Lone Wolf had spread over him to ward off the last chill of night.

Shaking his head in amusement, Lone Wolf retrieved his cloak, hiding a grin as Grey Star muttered something unintelligible but unmistakably uncomplimentary as he reflexively grabbed after it before retracting his arm to bury his head beneath it in a futile attempt to block out the sunlight.

Frankly, Lone Wolf thought the wizard had the right idea – but this was a reunion he suspected Grey Star would not want to miss.

“I believe you have some friends come to greet you,” he said.

Slowly, one grey eye slid open, blinking blearily at him from the crook of Grey Star’s elbow. Clearly resigned to the fact that he would not be allowed to sleep further, Grey Star let out a heavy sigh that turned into a yawn as he stretched and slowly pried himself up from the stone, rubbing his eyes and blinking as they adjusted to the light-

Then his gaze fell on the trio below, who now stood waiting a short distance down the stairs, close enough to easily recognize, and he sat bolt upright, all sleepiness fled in a moment. “Sado! And… Samu? You _both_ came?”

As he spoke, Grey Star leapt to his feet and began to run down the stairs to join the newcomers. Shaking his head, Lone Wolf followed, settling his cloak back over his shoulders as he walked.

The wiry Shadakine man wearing a thin silver circlet over grey-edged dark hair simply smirked slightly. Beside him, the dark-skinned giant smiled broadly, shifting what seemed to be a fourth person he carried on his back, although all Lone Wolf could make out was disheveled dark hair tumbling over the man’s shoulder. “Naturally,” he replied. “Sado could hardly stand aside from a fight such as this – and I wished to ensure that there would be someone with the strength to pick you up and carry you home after this latest adventure.”

Although his words were light, there was genuine concern in the big man’s eyes as he studied Grey Star’s face. The young wizard looked far better than he had in the immediate aftermath of the Nexus; at some point under Ishir’s light, the painful red of the deep sunburn had faded to his normal dusky color, and the lines of pain around eyes and mouth had eased. But he was still clearly weary, the echoes of pain still visible in the bruising around his eyes and the trail of now-dried blood from his nose that he apparently had completely forgotten about in his exhaustion.

Lone Wolf expected Grey Star to counter the jab with one of his own – but the young wizard was distracted, staring at the black tabard with its silver star device on Sado’s chest with an expression of disbelief.

Disbelief that turned into a truly impressive glower as he shifted his gaze to the man’s face. “You _didn’t_.”

Sado’s smirk deepened. “We’ve had it in place for a while. You were just too busy to notice.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You turned down the crown of the regent – so you’ll just have to live with being our symbol instead.”

Grey Star rolled his eyes. “I am a _wizard_ ,” he said, clearly restating an old argument. “Raised and reared by sages. In battles, the people followed me because I gave them _hope_ – and usually I needed your support even for that! In peacetime?” He shook his head. “Peacetime does not need _hope_. Peacetime needs someone who can deal with all the petty minutia of daily life and small squabbles without wanting to smite someone with a lightning bolt!”

Sado raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Have you _listened_ to any of my rants over the past months?” he asked pointedly.

Grey Star paused, head tilting slightly to one side. “Fair point,” he said, with a glimmer of mischief. “Allow me to correct myself. Without the option of _giving in_ to the desire to smite someone with a lightning bolt.”

King Ulnar had stood slightly to the side, listening with a look of fierce concentration – and only then did Lone Wolf realize that the three had been speaking in the language of the Shadakine Empire, his Pathfinder Discipline and his own familiarity with Grey Star filling in the foreign words with easily understood meaning. But it seemed that Ulnar had some mastery of the language, for he snorted in amusement at Grey Star’s words.

“Be glad you had the option of turning the throne aside,” he said dryly, in Sommlendish. “Some of us were born to them.”

But although his words were amused, the eyes he turned to Lone Wolf were anxious.

Lone Wolf smiled, and drew the Sommerswerd, laying it flat across his palms as all eyes turned to him.

As though he’d planned it, in that very moment a ray of sunlight broke free of the eastern mountains at last to reach down into the valley, bathing the blade in light the color of molten gold that danced and played over the shining, patterned steel like a living thing. The sword was warm in his hands, and it seemed to breathe in the morning light.

Ulnar approached slowly, as Sado and Samu studied the blade with wide, fascinated eyes. “It truly has been restored,” the king breathed, as though he scarcely dared to believe it. “When we saw the light from the mountain –truly did not know _what_ to think. To see sunlight in the depths of the night…”

Lone Wolf smiled slightly. “Restored, and made stronger than before,” he said, and didn’t bother to hide his satisfaction. “Much to our enemy’s dismay, I believe.” He turned his attention to the two southern kings and bowed, returning the Sommerswerd to its sheath. “It would not have been possible without aid. Thank you all.”

Sado smiled slightly. “The work was truly Grey Star’s and Tanith’s. Without the portal, we would not have had a chance of reaching this place.”

“Tanith!” Grey Star started. “Is she well?”

Samu chuckled as at last the person he carried on his back began to stir. The mess of hair rose to reveal brilliant green eyes in the face of a winsome young woman. “Well enough. She insisted on accompanying us up the mountain, though she had not the strength to make the climb herself. Fortunately, she weighs as little as _you_. Is that a common trait among wizards?”

Grey Star clearly was not listening. “Tanith!” he blurted, hurrying forward as the young woman slid down off Samu’s back. The two embraced each other, clearly forgetting everything else as they fell into a whispered conversation.

Lone Wolf raised his eyebrows slightly. “A friend?” he asked, amused.

Sado snorted. “So Grey Star claims. Fifty Nobles say they’ll be engaged before the year is out.”

Samu chuckled. “It will be a good match, if they do,” he said, as the young woman frowned and used the corner of her cloak to scrub the dried blood from Grey Star’s face. The wizard winced slightly, but submitted in good humor. “Tanith has a gift for trouble.”

Sado gave him a long, disbelieving look. “Grey Star is a wizard – too smart for his own good, and curious as ten cats in the bargain,” he said dryly. “And _seventeen_. Trouble is not something he needs _help_ finding!”

White teeth flashed in Samu’s dark face. “As we traveled the dead lands to reach the portal, I overheard her speaking of bells and leashes for stray wizards with too many enemies.”

King Ulnar huffed in laughter. “I’ve long wished for something similar when it comes to certain Kai Lords,” he muttered – and then winced, eyes flicking uneasily towards Lone Wolf’s face.

At one point, Lone Wolf supposed, he might have been offended by the implications – even furious, perhaps. But after so much time spent in the company of Grey Star and Banedon…

He rolled his eyes. “ _Wolf_ ,” he said pointedly. “Not dog.”

_~Nexus of Light~_

The kings signed a treaty at the foot of the stairs leading to the Nexus, before their gathered forces.

The whole of the courtyard was wrapped in grave silence. In truth, both parties knew that it was an empty gesture, one of form only, held more for the sake of history than active benefit. The Free Alliance of Southern Magnamund and Sommerlund were simply too distant to bear much influence upon each other. And yet, in a way, that gave the treaty all the more meaning. Although distant in location and disparate in histories though they were, each acknowledged the other as fellows in the battle against darkness.

And so the treaty itself was a simple thing, but poignant in its meaning – rendered all the more so, for the master scribe who penned its words was none other than the father of the youth Naar had taken as his final victim in this battle.

Lone Wolf had spoken to none of how Naar had taunted him with that possession – but he remembered. As he’d walked the Sommlending encampment after the battle, he’d found himself more attentive to the wondering eyes that followed as he passed. He’d begun pausing, exchanging a few words – _learning_ of the people who looked at him with such awe, and allowing them to learn of him in return.

He was the last of the Kai Lords, sworn enemy of darkness. And he would _not_ allow that darkness to use his own reputation against the people he protected.

And in the process, he’d learned much about the common soldiers. Which was why he knew that, though they attended the signing of the treaty with all the solemn gravity that was its due, the moment they _truly_ awaited with bated breath came shortly afterward, on the dais of the Gate.

In days since the restoration of the Sommerswerd and the breaking of Naar’s legion, the Sommlending and Shadakine forces had settled into a somewhat uneasy truce. For though they had fought together in common cause, differing languages and histories – and in some cases, hard and bitter past encounters – still divided them.

And yet, at the same time, more than a few new friendships had formed back-to-back in shared blood and hope and desperation that dark night. And, in the manner of bored soldiers anywhere, before long differences were set aside in favor of – thank Kai, usually _friendly_ – competition, and shared ale, and shared stories.

No few of which featured their most highly regarded heroes.

Battling his way across a war-torn land, evading Helghast assassins by slipping into Holmgard unseen through haunted crypts…

Lone Wolf could not help a remembered shudder at that tale. “Possibly the most ill-advised shortcut I have ever taken,” he said – and then hesitated, remembering bandit-filled mines, a putrid sewer, and many similarly dark places. “Although I fear its competition is fierce.”

Walking unscathed from the Shasarak’s inescapable Halls of Correction, freeing its prisoners and leaving the cells wreathed in unquenchable flames in his wake…

Grey Star chuckled. “Given that the flames were no more than a trick of the mind in the first place, yes, they _would_ have been rather difficult to douse.”

Challenging Darklord Zagarna to single combat before the very gates of Holmgard’s palace, and summoning the fire of the sun itself to strike him down…

“There was no single combat. I struck from the deck of the ship I rode, as Durenor’s fleet sailed into the harbor.” Lone Wolf rested his hand on the hilt of the Sommerswerd, still barely daring to believe that it truly had returned to his side.

A wizards’ duel fought upon the highest tower of Shasarak’s palace, wreathed in lightning and the eldritch fires of Shasarak’s demonic servants…

“No lightning,” Grey Star replied wryly. “The battle was fought in the depths of Shasarak’s quarters – and, praise Ishir, Agarash never actually _joined_ the battle, or all would have been lost.” He shivered in memory.

A desperate battle at the edge of the Maakengorge, fighting off the wraith of Vashna himself…

“Not his wraith. Only one who would have seen him revived.” Lone Wolf grimaced. “There are days when I wonder if the wraith would have been an easier foe.”

Destroying the demon portal of Tilos – and then tricking the enraged demon horde into attacking Shasarak’s own forces, freeing the warriors of Masbaté at last to strike back against the one who had driven them from their home…

Grey Star coughed, suddenly seeming to find the silvery stone of the Gate _utterly fascinating_.

Lone Wolf raised an eyebrow.

Grey Star flushed slightly, but his eyes danced with rueful amusement. “In my defense,” he said, “we were rather short of both time and alternatives.” He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “So now comes the time to part,” he said. “I would say, _may Ishir and Kai watch over you_ – but I have the feeling that would be superfluous.” A flicker of a wry smile crossed his face. “And _be safe_ , I think, would be a foolish thing to ask of either of us.”

Meeting the wizard’s eyes with a slight smile of his own, Lone Wolf clasped the offered hand, hearing a murmur ripple through the gathered armies. “Then if _be safe_ is too much to ask – let us both be _magnificent_.”

Grey Star huffed softly in laughter. Then, to Lone Wolf’s surprise, he shifted his grip, turning the Kai Lord’s palm upward – and in it, placed the red gemstone.

“This is called a Mind Gem,” he explained. “It allows minds to speak at a distance, even if you are not a mage.” His lips quirked. “Consider it insurance against the next time you find yourself on a world not your own.”

Because they both knew that there _would_ be a next time. Lone Wolf shook his head, slipping the cord of the stone over his neck with a dry smile.

Then he stepped back, as Tanith moved forward to join Grey Star. The two wizards stood, one on either side of the Gate. Together, they raised their hands, palms facing the great structure, and began to chant.

Shimmering veils of light rose to fill the open space of the Gate, rippling iridescent as though caught by a gentle wind, although the air itself was still. The shimmer cast a strange, ever-shifting light across the gathering, almost as though sunlight were shining through the surface of the water to dance across the bottom of a crystal-clear sea.

Then the shifting colors slowed, seemed to settle – and Grey Star met Lone Wolf’s eyes, and nodded briefly.

Captain D’Val stepped forward to stand before the Gate. Then, with no more hesitation than the time it took to square his shoulders, he stepped forward and vanished into the shimmering light.

All gathered held their breath – Lone Wolf not least among them. Grey Star had insisted they send a scout first, lest Naar have some last trick to play-

But only a few heartbeats later, the captain reappeared, smiling broadly as he waved the all clear, and a cheer rose up from the gathered Sommlendings.

Even so, Lone Wolf waited, standing beside King Ulnar as the soldiers marched through. The king’s face was calm and still – but Lone Wolf suspected that Ulnar counted those that passed, and grieved for the still dead on their pallets, and those who had been buried in the lost city or simply lost to the fog of war during the long siege of Hol-da-Kiem.

At length, however, the last of the soldiers passed. Then the knights rode forward, their horses shying slightly at the eerie gate, but willing enough to follow after the first to pass through.

Lone Wolf was the last to step into the shimmering light, and see the world around him blur into color and light and _song_ , every color and sound of the world, for one step, two, three-

-and he stepped out onto green grass awash in brilliant sunlight, and the open fields of southern Sommerlund.

A familiar wind brushed his cheeks, and he tilted his head back, breathing deeply of the scent of _home_ , before turning to look back.

For a moment, the portal shimmered in the air, like a fragile soap bubble-

And then it was gone, and he looked upon empty stone pillars that were all that remained of some long-ago keep on the edge of the plain.

“Trust your friend.”

Startled, Lone Wolf turned, to see King Ulnar waiting nearby, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Though distant, we all fight the same war,” the King said, glancing back at the space where the Gate had glimmered for a moment as well. “In the end, all one can do is let go, and pray that all will be well.”

Lone Wolf tilted his head, studying his liege lord thoughtfully.

“When I met Grey Star,” he said slowly, “I found myself wondering if I had looked so young, in the wake of the monastery’s destruction.”

For just a moment, King Ulnar hesitated.

Lone Wolf smiled slightly.

_I did, didn’t I. But you had enough care for my pride that you never let me see it._

Surprisingly touched, he clasped a hand to his chest and bowed deeply, unspoken acknowledgement and thanks together.

A shout drew their attention to a nearby knoll. There, Prince Hamil waved vigorously to his grandfather – and by the Prince’s shoulder stood Lord Rimoah, silently waiting.

“And so the time comes for your quest to resume,” King Ulnar said quietly, and hesitated. “I have one thing to say. The Darklords still rage in Helgedad to determine which of their number will rise to take Haakon’s place. But the civil war will not last forever, and when it ends, their new leader will be eager to strike out against Sommerlund again.”

Lone Wolf nodded grimly.

“If that time comes too soon – stay your chosen course, Kai Master. Do _not_ return to Sommerlund.”

Lone Wolf whipped his head around to stare at the king. “Sire…!”

King Ulnar met his gaze levelly. “We have fought the Darklords for generations. It seems likely we shall fight them for generations to come. Sommerlund will stand. But the Kai Lords _must_ be restored. Focus on your Magnakai Quest, Lone Wolf. On that, all our hopes depend.” Without waiting for a response, he urged his horse into motion, riding away towards his grandson and heir.

For a long moment, Lone Wolf stood silent before the ancient ruins. Then, breathing deeply of Sommerlund’s air, he raised his head, and followed his king.

_~Nexus of Light~_

Lone Wolf vanished into the Gate – and, a few moments later, Grey Star felt the _shiver_ of magic that meant the Kai Lord had crossed safely to the far side.

Sighing in relief, he released the magic that held the Gate open, and felt Tanith do the same.

Sado nodded briskly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good. Catch your breath for a moment – we’ll need a bit to get ourselves in order for our turn anyway.” With that, the Regent of the Free Alliance turned and walked away, calling out orders with the same brisk efficiency with which he’d commanded his band of rebels when Grey Star had first met him in the marshes.

Grey Star sat on the edge of the platform, glad enough for the rest. Though he and Tanith had both regained their strength after the trials of that desperate night, and the spells and magics still woven deep into the structure of the Gate carried the worst of the burden of opening a portal, it was still far from an _easy_ task.

Tanith sat next to him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her as she leaned forward, dangling her legs over the edge of the platform as they watched Sado’s forces forming up in preparation for the journey.

“I met the Shianti,” she said quietly.

Startled, Grey Star turned his head to look at her.

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, the set of her mouth an odd mix of determined and uncertain. “I think that is who it was, at least,” she admitted. “I don’t know. Only that once I opened the portal beyond the boundaries of this world – suddenly, I was not alone, and there were other hands aiding mine.”

_“Only I have broken the letter of our vow.”_

Only a small jolt of wistful loss kept Grey Star from laughing aloud in delight. He had, after all, learned the art of handling truth with care from the best.

Although in truth, he had _hoped_ that might happen. It was one reason of many why, during their mental counsels, he had suggested that Tanith transport the Free Alliance’s forces to that fragment of a world first, rather than attempting to overcome Naar’s influence on the Gate directly. Better to deal with the waiting reinforcements, and take advantage of Naar’s own prepared spells for the final journey.

And, possibly, open the door to a little… creative interpretation of the rules.

But Tanith was studying her hands now, clearly choosing her words with care. “It was… pleasant,” she said at last. “To work magic with another as an equal, rather than simply having my power _taken_ from me for another’s purposes.”

Grey Star opened his mouth – but he sensed she yet had something to say, and so he waited.

Drawing in a deep breath, Tanith raised her head and turned to face him directly, green eyes flashing.

“I grow _tired_ of Mother Magri’s shadow looming over me,” she said, fierce and defiant. “Perhaps it may have worked for the best… but if not for her traps, I might have gone with you, and perhaps they never would have captured you.” Her hands closed into fists.

Quietly, Grey Star said, “Mother Magri worked her power through yours very deeply. To purge her influence – it might cost you all the magic you ever learned.”

Tanith released a heavy breath, tossing her head to shake her hair out of her eyes. “I know,” she said. “If that is the cost I have to pay…” She met his eyes levelly. “Then when I have paid it, teach me _anew_. In your form of magic. But I will _not_ be left behind while you go into danger again.”

Slowly, Grey Star nodded. And then he held out his hand.

Eyes brightening, Tanith reached out to clasp it, and together they pulled each other to their feet.

Samu chuckled where he waited by the stair, abruptly reminding them that they were not alone.

“A good agreement,” he said, and nodded to where Sado was approaching, as the last of the Shadaki army formed their ranks. “And now, I think we are ready.”

Grey Star nodded. “Then let us go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ishir’s reaction – it _is_ implied that she actually approved of the Shianti’s creative interpretation with regards to Grey Star. Plus… darn it all, Good may not be Nice, but _Big Goods should act like Big Goods_. Lawful Good is not Lawful Stupid! 
> 
> And – pure headcanon here – if Ishir’s concern with the Shianti was that they were preventing humans from “growing up,” so to speak… then I suspect that seeing the way they raised Grey Star spoke very well for them in her eyes. A human child, theirs to mold and train as they saw fit, and they didn’t raise him as a _worshiper_. They raised him as one of them – an equal.
> 
> And on that note… We aren't told much about Grey Star’s life with the Shianti. However, there are some things we can extrapolate. For one – Grey Star must have grown up knowing that he was adopted (the eye thing, as noted earlier, would have been a dead giveaway). And given how _not_ surprised he is by being told to fight Shasarak – he probably knew about that, too. And yet for all that, he’s not bitter at all about being essentially a Tykebomb to do the dirty work the Shianti can’t. More than that, Grey Star _trusts_ people. Which is a skill you have to learn. Usually by being raised in a stable, loving family. Doubly so in his case, because he has the trauma of the shipwreck (and thus being a crying infant _alone and hungry and cold_ for hours before he was found – and most psychological research these days suggests that, yes, an experience like that can and will stick with you, even though you can’t consciously recall it), _and_ he knows he’s adopted. Which means – yes, he was the student of the Shianti, and the embodiment of their hopes of stopping Shasarak. But first and foremost, he was their _son_. By which I mean, some of the Shianti had to have stepped forward to be his parents. Actual, close, loving family that he knew would be there if he ever really, truly needed them.
> 
> (Which is my other major objection with _Buccaneers of Shadaki_. I’d say we’re clearly supposed to understand that Ishir was not given the Moonstone – it stayed with Grey Star, and presumably his disappearance is connected with how Naar got his hands on it. Which means the Shianti’s reaction to the Grandmaster showing up should _not_ be, “Thank you for bringing it back, hang out for a few days and then we’ll see you on your way.” Acarya should at least have mentioned, “By the by, this was in the keeping of a very important ally of ours, do you know what happened to him?” …ahem. End rant!) 
> 
> Shianti not being healers is implied canon – Grey Star is never given the option of learning any healing magic, which makes his books a little trickier to play if you actually cleave to the fighting system rules the way I, ah, kindasortaneverdid. Ahem.
> 
> The incidents mentioned in the rumors are all taken from various books – and then embellished slightly. Although some of them were a little hard to make any more grandiose than the original material! (And yes – throughout the books, particularly the second one, Grey Star has a bad habit of pushing himself to the point of collapse – at which point it’s often Samu who picks him up and tosses him over his shoulder until they find somewhere safe to rest.)
> 
> Tanith suffers from a severe case of being Put on a Bus to get her out of the way in the Grey Star books, and often Mother Magri’s power to essentially invoke More Than Mind Control is involved. I can see her wanting to _do_ something about that.


	13. Epilogue

Sunlight poured through the branches of the Raumas Forest, dappling the clearing in rustling emerald and gold. But beneath the peaceful, sun-washed canopy, the woods were alive with the sounds of hammers shaping stone, the sawing of wood, and the busy industry of building.

Pausing at the edge of the clearing, his senses alive with the breath and pulse of the forest, Lone Wolf studied the rising outline of the new Kai Monastery.

After long consideration, he had chosen not to rebuild on the site of the old monastery. Better to leave it and its old grief in peace. Instead, he had chosen a new site – very near the old, near enough to remember, but still far enough to be a new beginning.

Although, when he had been scouting likely sites for the new building, and found this one… first, he had simply stopped and _laughed_. For a good five minutes.

Nearby, there was a _clunk_ , and a muttered curse. Lone Wolf turned to see one of the workmen rubbing his head while glowering at one particular tree that Lone Wolf had insisted, emphatically, was not to be touched or disturbed in any way.

Hiding a smile of amusement, Lone Wolf glanced at the offending branch. He had grown slightly since that dark day, over twenty years ago now – but so had the tree.

_Still perfect head-knocking height._

A good reminder, should he ever grow too proud of his powers.

A murmur went through the workforce suddenly, drawing the attention of the man still rubbing his bruised forehead. Lone Wolf turned as well, looking up as a sailed shadow passed overhead above the canopy, making for the clear space around the new monastery before the _Skyrider_ dropped low enough to release the boarding ladder.

Lone Wolf walked forward as a dark-haired man descended the ladder with the easy agility of one who was no stranger to scrambling about – and almost chuckled when he saw several of the dwarven crew members at the railing casting wary glances at him.

He had gotten _vengeance_ for that ignominious drop-off, oh yes. Banedon and his crew to this day collectively _winced_ whenever someone mentioned the word _duck_. And from the look of things, every newcomer to the crew had heard the tale.

Better still, Banedon and his dwarves had no idea whether or not Grey Star had played any role in his little revenge. A fact that he had no doubt the wizard had held over their heads throughout the journey north.

But as Grey Star leapt the last few feet to the ground and turned to face him, Lone Wolf had to pause.

He thought he’d wrapped his mind around the concept that his journey into the Dazairn to retrieve the last, stolen Lorestones, short as it had seemed from his perspective, had in fact seen _eight years_ passing on Magnamund. If nothing else, the sporadic and sometimes painful contact through Grey Star’s Mind Gem had been proof of that, as both of them had struggled to make sense of information coming at them from a time so out of sync with their own sense of it. Although he was grateful for that contact. Without it, returning to find Sommerlund overrun by the Darklords’ forces and teetering on the brink of doom would have been a dangerous shock at a time when he could ill afford such things.

So his mind understood, now, why Grey Star had seemed so concerned, when first they had returned from the lost fragment to Magnamund. But from the _shock_ that struck him to see that he and the “young” wizard now were nearly of an age… He still had not quite _accepted_ the lost time, and all that meant.

But though Grey Star truly was a man grown now, the wry smile as he approached with hand outstretched had not changed. “They will return soon,” he explained, as the _Skyrider_ rose again, its sails billowing in the wind as it began to glide away on a new course. “Banedon carries a message for your king that he must deliver before they can make dock – but I saw no reason to travel to Holmgard when my destination was here.”

Lone Wolf accepted the handclasp with a nod. “Well met again, and well come,” he said, studying the wizard’s face to see what other changes the passing years had wrought since they’d parted at Hol-da-Kiem. Surprisingly little; only the depths of experience in grey eyes truly betrayed the passage of time.

And something else, as well… a hint of _timelessness_ , more sensed than seen, as though the flow of years had not – quite – left its proper mark. Something he recognized, from his own mirror.

_I should not be surprised,_ he admitted to himself. _Fate has laid its hand on both of us. And seems loath to let go, now that it has a grip._

But those were words for long evenings and quiet counsel – not this sun-washed green glade. Setting the uneasy thought aside, Lone Wolf continued, “Thank you for coming. I know the journey was a long one.”

Grey Star shook his head. “I nearly did not,” he admitted. “Things are… uneasy, in the south. We still have not rooted out the last of Shasarak’s supporters, and there are dark whispers that they have joined forces with Nadziranim necromancers.” He looked up, studying the outer wall of the monastery, which had already been set in place. “But when you asked for my aid in setting protections about this place to avert another massacre… Tanith and Sado can handle the south, until I return.”

Lone Wolf nodded, and gestured to the opening that would be the gates, when the doors themselves were finally installed. “Come and see, then. Much of the construction has already been completed.”

Grey Star followed him – but the wizard paused when he first got a clear look at the device above the portal. A master stonecarver had etched the sun’s glory of Kai in bright relief, using white granite dappled in golden flecks for the stone – but, clearly visible behind the rays of the sun, he had also etched what was unmistakably the disc of a full moon.

The wizard stepped forward to walk beside Lone Wolf as they passed through the wall. “A reminder?” he asked quietly.

Lone Wolf nodded. “That sometimes, things are a matter of perception – and that perception matters,” he said.

Grey Star started to smile – and then blinked in surprise as he took in the gardens of the inner courtyard. Most were still bare, but a few already grew lush.

The sidelong glance the wizard cast at Lone Wolf this time was _distinctly_ amused. “Lavender and lemon balm?” he asked.

Lone Wolf coughed slightly. “I’ve developed a taste for it,” he admitted, and could only smile ruefully as Grey Star laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if the forest where the Kai Monastery was located is ever named, but the ruins where Lone Wolf meets Banedon in _Flight from the Dark_ are named Raumas, which is also associated with one of the rivers along the border, so I took the name for the forest as well. And I just couldn’t pass up a cameo by the Branch of Head-Knocking! (Yes, Lone Wolf probably grew an inch or two – most people are still growing a little bit at eighteen or nineteen.)
> 
> And no, I’m not going to tell you what Lone Wolf’s revenge-prank was. Some things are best left to the imagination. Mwah-ha-ha.
> 
> This goes down as one of the _fastest_ stories I have ever written – from initial concept to first draft complete in less than two months! I suspect a lot of that had to do with the fact that the very first bunny to bounce into my head was the opening of the story: the rescue scenario. Originally, it was more complicated, with Lone Wolf freeing Grey Star and then Grey Star coming back to help him – which was where the initial idea of setting the story during the Magnakai Quest came from, as that seemed like a reasonable window of time when Lone Wolf might be traveling the world and encounter whatever situation Grey Star had gotten himself into. Hence my timeline issues, as I knew that I wanted this adventure to be shortly after the end of _War of the Wizards_ , but the Magnakai adventure starts eleven or twelve years after the massacre at the monastery. So I _had_ to throw out the supplemental-material-canon stating that _Flight from the Dark/Fire on the Water_ and _Grey Star the Wizard_ took place in the same year. Given that I couldn’t find any information that would suggest the 5050 date for both in the books I was taking as my canon (and some circumstantial evidence against it!), however, that didn’t bother me too much. I consider supplemental materials to be just that: supplemental, apply or not as you see fit. Although I did my best to err on the side of “apply,” whenever I could. Other than a few cases – such as Lone Wolf’s starting age – where I flat-out could not _believe_ what the supplemental materials tried to claim.
> 
> Then I came up with the idea of them being trapped on a fragment of a dead world (the imagery of which drew heavily on the Outland from _World of Warcraft_ , and the final battle sequence in _Kingdom Hearts_ where it looks like you’re fighting your way through a series of fallen worlds, long before I got my hands on the _Magnamund Companion_ and discovered that apparently there was indeed a mythology that included worlds shattered in the battle between light and darkness). And in addition, the bunnies realized that they could actually skip the Lone-Wolf-frees-Grey-Star aspect of the initial idea, which simplified logistics a lot. Really, Lone Wolf didn’t need the additional Heroic Cred from a scene like that. He’s got all the Heroism Points he needs.
> 
> So, that was the initial idea for the story. (Although the first _scene_ I wrote was actually Lone Wolf waking. Credit for which probably has to go to the fact that I was drinking a lavender tea at the time and had the idle thought that it tasted a bit like sunlight!)
> 
>  But that’s not unusual, to have a strong opening scene be the driving force behind a story. What made this unusual was that then I was thinking about the idea as I went on a walk listening to music (Within Temptation, most particularly _Silver Moonlight, Lost, Paradise (What About Us)_ , and _Covered by Roses_ , if anyone’s curious – yes, I like operatic fantasy metal for chewing over story ideas, although I tend to like groups like Two Steps from Hell or Audiomachine or Future World Music for writing; they do “trailer-style” music that sounds like movie soundtracks). And what ends up coalescing in my head but the image of a broken Sommerswerd, an epic magical ritual to repair it while Lone Wolf has to hold off the Big Bad without his signature magical weapon, the Shianti deciding the situation is dire enough to break their vow and damn the consequences, and then the idea of the forces of Shadaki showing up at the darkest hour as unexpected allies. 
> 
> So my very first plotbunny was the opening of the story. My _second_ plotbunny was the epic ending – which, perforce, gave me the actual plot (restoring the broken Sommerswerd). After that, all I had to do was piece the bits together.
> 
> …well, and another thing helped. All I can say is, you’ve done _something_ right when the plotbunnies speed you through a story just so they can get to the scene where they finally get to _stomp_ the villain.
> 
> And man, but it was a _fun_ ride. I like details and realism, a la _The Dragon-King’s Temple_ … but sometimes you just want to wallow in ridiculous levels of awesome for a while!


End file.
